Finally finished the first chapter! Woo! Thank you all who showed interest by reviewing, favoriting, or putting the story on their alert list. When I put up the preview. This story is rated T for obvious reasons. Gamzee and Karkat have bad mouths that need to be washed out with soap… Actually no. They should stay the way they are. Homestuck characters don't belong to me.

Also, am I the only one who sees Tavros being completely obsessed with Lord of the Rings?

Chapter 1

The teachers said that after a few weeks of being in the high school, I'd be happy I skipped a grade. They said that high school would be a better fit for me, since I had better than perfect grades in all my classes. A lot of things were promised to be better once I got moved from the middle school to the high school. Well, they were wrong about a lot of things. And this is just an example.

I can't reach the Lord of The Rings books on the top shelf.

"Please?" I beg, as if coaxing the book to fall would actually work. It's almost within my reach, but I'll never be able to reach it. I haven't been able to reach that book in the two years I've been in this school.

I know what you're thinking.

"Tavros, why don't you go ask for help? You're in a wheelchair, people will understand."

Yeah, well that's the problem. People don't understand. All they see is a "poor handicapped boy" in a wheelchair, struggling to reach a book on the library shelf. People open doors for me, but not that girl with her arms full of books. They offer to help me up when I fall, but find no problem with pushing some normal kid to the ground when he refuses to give up his lunch money. It's not right, and I hate it. I don't want their pity.

I can almost reach the book if I pull myself up on the shelves. I try to only do this when others aren't looking since it'd only get me more pity. Plus, it's kinda dangerous. Have you ever tried pulling yourself up a bookcase without using your legs? It's not easy, so when my finger touches the spine, a little wave of excitement washes over me. Maybe, I think, I'll actually reach this book today. Maybe I'll even check it out, just because I got that book off the shelf, not some librarian who shakes her head and smiles down at me as she hands me the book.

That's when my wheelchair slips out from under me. I can't tell how far away it is exactly, but my legs must have pushed it back pretty far because I hear it hit the bookcase behind me. Great, now I can't sit down into the seat. I grunt a little as my grip on the shelf slips and I try to reach for the black book with "Fellowship of the Ring" written on the side. I must have been making a lot of noise, because I can see someone in my peripheral vision as I fall to the ground and hit my head on the chair. Several books fall as well, making a very embarrassing scene that much worse.

"Woah, bro you alright?" the person says as he crouches down next to me. He has a rough voice, and… I don't know, my head feels fuzzy, but is that smoke I smell? "Aw man, you hit your head," He says, obviously upset about something. Everything feels slow, and there's a dull ache on the side of my head, a little bit behind my ear. Before my hand reaches the spot, thin fingers are wrapped around my wrist.

"I'm fine," I want to say. "I can take care of myself."

However, something stops me. It takes a while for my brain to register this, but he's picking me up. The thick stench of some sort of drug assaults my nose, making me want to vomit. I've always had a strong sense of smell, but whoever this is must have been smoking fairly recently. It's just so strong, I'm a bit surprised that none of the teachers have noticed it when he was walking around the halls.

I think he just carried me out the library doors, but I'm not exactly sure of what's going on. Slowly I move my head to see who this person is, which only makes the pain on the side of my head feel like much worse. I can't quite make out this person's face. Is my vision supposed to be fading this much? From what I've read in books, the answer is no, but I'm not a doctor, so I can't let it worry me. Or, at least, that's what I tell myself as I stare dumbly up at the mystery person who smells like drugs. Whoever it is, they have really nice curly hair.

I wince as I reach a hand toward the spot that seems to be growing more and more painful as I try to pinpoint where it is. It was a mistake to try touching it, and I know this the second I see my hand. It feels as if someone was driving a pencil into the back of my head. I can't scream, but there is blood on my hand. Blood. Dear god, is there supposed to be that much blood on my hand? The worst part is I can't stop looking at it.

"Hang on. You're almost there, just hang on," The guy says, his voice breaking through my state of shock.

At this point, the only thing I can do is keep calm. Somewhere along the way, I fade, unable to respond or process anything that's going on. All I know for sure is this:

1. There is blood on my hand.

2. There is blood on my head.

3. I didn't get the Lord of The Rings book.

4. This guy who smells like drugs has curly hair.

It's been a few days since I got out of that ugly hospital room. I would have told you what happened while I was there… but honestly to make it even remotely interesting, I'd probably be making things up. There were fish on the walls, and the nurses all wore shirts with teddy bears or balloons on them. Even saying the walls of my room were white would be a lie. You'd think that after years of being in and out of this hospital, they'd let me stay in a room that didn't have a giant fish painted on the bright blue wall. I'm just glad they let me out after a few days this time. And that, for once, they told me not to go to physical therapy (aka torture).

My father clears his throat, an obvious sign he's trying to break the silence. Things… haven't been great between us. It's not like we fight, but we don't talk much. Honestly, this slight hesitation before speaking is the only hesitation you'll ever see from him.

"How do you feel about getting some pizza for dinner? It's a good change from the hospital food, am I right?" he says, trying to make himself sound cheerful.

I know he's anything but cheerful.

Hospital bills aren't cheap. Finding out your son fell from a bookcase and was sent to the emergency room isn't pleasant. I don't think "not pleasant" even begins to describe how he felt when he got the call. Between the extra medical expenses this month and the horror of getting a call from the emergency room, I wouldn't blame him for being upset.

"Uh, sure, I guess," I say. What else is there to say? It's pizza.

I wish he'd talk about Mom instead of pizza.

Remember when I said I don't like getting help from others, because I know they just pity me? Well, I have found something I hate even more than that.

"Move it, Karkat! I'm pushing Tavros to gym class."

"Back off, I was here first! He asked me, not you."

Someone, please. Make them stop. It's a wheelchair. There's nothing exciting about wheelchairs. It's not like it runs on rockets or anything. I'll say it again, there's nothing cool about wheelchairs. Terezi, the girl with the loud voice, even tries pulling the wheelchair handles from Karkat's hands. At least Karkat has enough common sense to remember there is actually a person in this wheelchair and snaps at her for pushing me around like this.

… I'm sorry, that was kind of mean, wasn't it? I guess it's a good thing no one in this school can read minds.

The teacher on the other side of the room calls Terezi's name and she lets out a groan before marching dramatically over to the teacher's desk, running into several different things in the process. Huh, you know, I've noticed that she runs into the desks a lot. More often than the clumsiest people in this school. Also, I'm sorry, but her handwriting is almost illegible. I'd think she's blind, but she never has anyone guiding her around, and she seems to be able to tell where everyone is in a room…

"Come on, let's get out of here before she decides to push you again," Karkat mutters as he wheels me out the door and into the hallway.

Karkat and I have known each other for a long time. We actually shared a room in the children's wing at the hospital. It was after the accident, and I was still struggling with some epilepsy problems (those first few months were terrifying). Karkat suffers from some strange blood disorder or something like that, which I'm guessing is probably one of the reasons why he's short. I never actually caught the name of what he had… By the way, don't tell him I said that. He's secretive about it, and I can understand why. Like me, he doesn't want others giving him meaningless pity. It must be nice to have that kind of freedom.

I sigh and lean back in the chair. The stitches still itch, but the doctor said that was normal. What wasn't normal was the bald spot on the side of my head they had to make in order to put in the stitches. And of course, I had two choices: go to school with a random bald spot on the side of my head, or get a new haircut that made it look somewhat normal. I chose the latter, and long story short, I now have a Mohawk.

I should say something… We talked a lot back when we shared the room in the children's wing. I sigh and close my eyes, trying to think of something to say.

"Remember the time the doctors kicked your brother out of the room for talking too much?" I say, smiling at the memory of the Karkat look alike in a red sweater talking the doctor's ear off.

"Dear God, you still remember that?" He asked with a groan. "Kankri can be so fucking embarrassing sometimes, and he's gotten worse. He's a know-it-all who actually knows what he's arguing about. You can never win against him," he says as we approach the gym.

I smile. "He's in college now, right?" I say, trying to keep the conversation going. I don't know if Karkat is glaring at me for speaking about his brother, which I guess is one of the joys of being in a wheelchair.

"Unfortunately, he gets an entire month off from college. He's going to med school, so he won't shut up about how 'amazing' my 'condition' is," Karkat says as he pushes me through the doors of the gym. I can tell he's getting fired up again. He's practically running, and his voice is sounding angrier with each word he says. I hate to admit it, but it's kinda fun getting Karkat worked up… That is until he starts yelling. "The idiot should learn to keep his mouth shut. I don't care about whatever history or science went into researching it. I'm alive, and that's what matters."

I'm about to say that he's starting to sound like an angrier version of his brother with the way he's ranting, when something catches my eye.
The black curly hair.

It's the guy from the library… and his arm is in a purple cast.