I am once again conquering the wonderful world of Alois/Claude fanfictions! Yay! :D

Anyway, how have you guys been? Were you waiting long enough? I wanted to make sure it would be perfect, and I hope you'll all like it!

Welcome to the alternate universe known as 'BAD KIDS'. Read and review so that I won't have to discountinue this (I've worked too hard)! Kya~! ;D

BAD KIDS

Chapter 1: What A Drag

The first time Alois Trancy felt undeniable hatred towards anyone or anything was when he was 7. He remembered listening to his parents arguing from atop the staircase. It was far past his bedtime, but his sleep deprived eyes didn't so much as droop. He was wide awake, very alert, and afraid of something. At the time, he didn't know what frightened him so much, but he soon concluded that yelling was bad, and he was taught better than to hoot and holler like an injured animal or a terrible toddler, and since his parents had taught him otherwise, why were they now screaming at the peak of their lungs... and at each other?

Even though Alois was young, he knew what it meant to be a hypocrite at an early age. He learned by observing people. Before this night, however, he could never say that his mother and father were hypocrites. Before this night, he had never had the inconvenience of such fastidious behavior - and under his own roof at that.

He remembered walking down the stairs with painstaking slowness and trembling in horrendous fear because he couldn't comprehend why there was so much noise. His ears were ringing, his stomach was churning, and nothing could compare to the apprehensive condition he was in.

He reached the bottom step, and immediatly laid eyes on the scene. His mother had her fingers tangled in her light brown hair, screaming something about how she couldn't handle being hurt anymore.

Hurt? Alois thought his mother was untouchable by any anguish in the world.

His father had a bottle in one hand and was pointing at nothing with the other. He gave a retort, saying something about how he wasn't sorry in the least bit for hurting her, being disloyal to not only her, but their son as well.

Alois didn't understand what was going on, and it terrified him. His feet left the last step, and he gradually made his way over to his parents. They didn't notice him at first, and Alois was glad for that. After all, in his mind, this type of confrontation was not just secret, but meant for only adults to witness.

"Mommy?" His voice was a low, wavering sound that tore through both of his parents' voices with surprising ease. Instantly, their heads turned to the boy, and all at once, he felt like he had done something terrible by interrupting them.

"Alois..." His mother hesitated for a second, taking in the sight of her fidgety son standing there, his big blue orbs questioning. They made striking eye contact with each other for a few minutes, both speechless with worry for the other, but their connection was suddenly broken by the shattering of glass.

Alois' father has thrown the bottle he was holding onto in a fit of fury, and the leftover fragments were strewn across the carpet in between him and his wife. He swore under his breath, leaning forward to grab his car keys off of the end table to the right of him.

Alois' mother flew forward, grabbing them before her husband could and returning to her spot almost adjacent from him. She dangled them in the air between them, threatening him in the only way she could at this point.

"Would you really leave us? Would you really leave your only son?" Her voice was raised again, but not high enough to be considered a scream.

"Gladly!" Her husband replied, his voice sounding like more of a growl than anything else.

"You fucking coward! You can't deal with your responsiblity? Grow up, you fucking bastard!" His wife was nearly crying the words that left her lips.

All the while, Alois was still standing there, tears stinging his eyes. He couldn't move... only watch the scene play out like part of a movie, and to him, he was in a living cinema picture right now, true story and all. So, he tried calling for his father, hoping that everything would just stop.

"Daddy," he began, "why are you yelling?"

His father ignored him, instead demanding possession of his car keys.

Not giving up, Alois repeated himself, but raised his voice a little.

"Daddy, why are you yelling?" His question came out in a sob of sorts, and his father glanced at him for less than a moment, quickly averting his attention back to his wife and repeating in a hoarse voice, "Give me the keys."

"You want the keys? Here! Fucking take them!" His wife threw the keys at him, and he caught them easily.

"If you want me to go, then I'll fucking go... and I'll never come back." Her husband grumbled. "You can raise that kid on your own. I never wanted him anyway."

The teardrops finally spilled, Alois gaining control of his body and trying to catch his father before he could open the front door and drive away. He succeeded, clutching onto the sleeve of his sweater with his tiny hands. He stared up at his father, his expression forlorn and betrayed.

"Daddy, don't leave!" He cried. "Daddy, please don't leave! I love you!"

The man seemed to be emotionless, simply glaring down at his son in a very stoic manner.

The blonde boy had never seen such a look on his father's face. Usually, his features were beautifully content, amazingly warming...

There was no warm expression this time, no happiness for miles. Alois frowned, his throat becoming sore from all the sobbing and pleading. He couldn't let his father go. He looked up to this man. He loved this man... and this man surely loved miss as well, right? The boy wondered if it was possible for a father to truly despise his son, for a father to abandon his son just because he didn't want him anymore.

Alois thought of old clothes and how they get thrown out when people lose interest in them, when people no longer desire to hold onto them, when they get torn and tattered. Could he by some chance be like an old shirt? A faded pair of jeans? Had his father grown tired of him, and did he have the desire to throw him away, put him in the trash can, and set him out for the garbage truck?

"Get your son off of me."

Perhaps, he didn't care enough about his son to even do that.

Alois let out a small gasp, his father shaking him off, and his mother lifting him up into her arms.

Even in locked tightly in the arms of his mother, he tried lunging forward and grabbing his father again. His heartbreak made him weak, and his body sagged with sleepiness.

The front door opened, then closed, and soon Alois and his mother could hear the car engine start, the wheels screech on the pavement, and the sounds of driving away.

That was the last time Alois saw his father.


"Trancy!"

The classroom was quiet san the minimal whispers and snickers from the Civics students.

A boy sat in the far back of the room, his arms crossed, and the hood of his black jacket shading his facial features from all observers. He appeared to be unmoved, emotionally unaffected by the gossiping students or the teacher, whom he must've been rubbing the wrong way by not answering.

"The rules," the teacher began, "are clearly stated in the handbook." He rotated his body and took a few steps toward the back of his desk. He scanned the surface for said handbook, and when he spotted it, it was in his hand in no time. Again, he was facing his class, irritation evident in his expression.

This was not the first time the silent boy in the back of the room had given trouble to the teacher. On numerous occasions, he had broken the rules by doing everything from blowing bubbles with his chewing gum to physically attacking another classmate. He had been sent to the principal's office every time because he refused to find fault in himself. In his mind, he did what he wanted and braced for no punishment.

"Page 15." The teacher flipped through the little, blue book, "Students are required to remove their hats or hoods before entering the school's premisis. No, and I repeat, no compromises will be put in effect." He shut the book after reading aloud, and set it back on his cluttered desk. Before speaking again, he straightened his tie and cleared his throat.

"Does that mean anything to you?"

He directed the question to the defiant boy, but he remained quiet and despondant, even pulling his hood down farther just to irk his teacher.

The class was secretly passing notes now, trying to contain their laughter so that they wouldn't get scolded. They weren't like the boy they were slandering. They weren't bad to the extent that he was. In fact, no one came into comparison with him.

The teacher's sigh hushed the students for a moment and he lightly shook his head, giving up. He went to his desk again, taking a sticky note and writing something on it with a pen. The class would soon realized that it was yet another pass straight to the principal's office, and they didn't need to predict that it was for the hooded boy. They'd witnessed this same scene a thousand times and were growing accustomed to it, expecting it almost.

"Trancy," the teacher grumbled holding the note out, " to the office now."

The boy didn't hesitate, getting up almost instantly and snatching the note from his oppressed teacher's hand. The door slammed as he exited. It always did. After that, the class didn't utter another word to each other.

Somewhere in the opposite hallway, the door to the main office was being entered, and the secretary at the front desk didn't so much as look up at the boy, who stood without his jacket on let alone his hood. He had made it a point to drop it off at his locker before actually stepping foot into the office. It tended to be warmer in there than the rest of the school.

The woman knew who it was standing there, and asked him to take a seat by the window and wait.

"Principal's busy right now. You might be here awhile." Her voice was bland, lacking any personality at all. The boy crossed his arms, leaning back against the window. His eyes closed in a slightly serene manner, and for the first time since the day had started, he felt relaxed.

Something inside of him wished that he could sit there all day like that, but he gathered that it would be pretty boring after an hour or two, and he didn't have the attention span for such confinement.

Ten minutes minutes went by like this, then fifteen, then twenty. The ticking of the analong clock on the wall was beginning to annoy him, and soon his eyes were open again and staring at the plain, white walls within the office. He was sure of one thing: He didn't want to be there. He was even more sure of another thing: He did not want to be in class. So, he wasn't complaining.

A quick opening of the door cause him to jump, and another woman entered, sending a smile to the secretary only to get a roll of the eyes in return. Her gaze lept to the lone boy in the farthest chair near the window, and her smile grew weak.

The boy's eyes met hers. She shot him an accusing glare (which still seemed friendly), and spoke in an unreadable pitch, "Alois Trancy, what have you done this time?"

The boy, Alois Trancy, let his pupils indirectly beg her for a way out, and she nodded, seemingly comprehensive and sympathetic to his situation.

"I'll take care of him." She declared, spinning on her heel in the direction of the grouchy secretary.

"Take him." She had no objections to speak of. By now, no one would've.

Alois lifted himself from the chair and followed his savior out the door, across the hall, and into her personal office - the guidance office.

As soon as her door shut, Alois threw a million mental hugs to her, comfortably plopping down in the seat across from her, his legs folded.

"Can I thank you enough? Like... seriously? I was about to die of boredum over there... and that woman must have a stick up her ass or something. I swear, she's always such a bitch to me. It's not like she even does any work." Alois ranted, leaning forward. "I snuck behind her desk once, and she was playing solitaire. Solitaire! Can you believe it, Miss Marsha?"

The woman, Miss Marsha, shook her head in response, wagging a finger at Alois and saying, "Watch your language, Alois. It gets you in a rut more than you realize."

Alois waved her threat off, replying, "Well, that wasn't my downfall today."

Miss Marsha's expression contorted with intrigue at his statement. Her worry was obvious, and Alois expected her next question.

"What was your downfall today?" She asked. "Why was a boy like you, a boy that I know is trying to hide his kindness and composure, sitting in an office where disobedient kids are sent?"

Alois shrugged, his mood becoming serious, his body tensing.

"I've said this so many times before, but I feel like it never gets through to you. I know you're not as bratty as you act. I know that this is your first year in high school, and it's a big adjustment... but you have to roll with it. You're only a month into your freshman year, and you're already giving up on yourself. You're being agonizingly impotent."

"So?" Alois was unfazed.

"Do you know how people look at you? They perceive you as the crazy kid. They think you're insane... and this... doesn't technically have to do with anything, but the way you dress really doesn't help."

Alois scanned himself up and down, searching for a flaw, but finding nothing. To him, there wasn't anything unordinary about the tight-fitting purple and whited striped t-shirt, the unbearably short shorts, or the matching purple pair of Converse he was wearing.

"What's wrong with how I dress?" He honestly had no clue. For as long as he could remember, he had worn clothes like this. He simply chose a majority of feminine clothing because he didn't like how the clothes that most boys his age wore were baggy, saggy, and, in his opinion, ugly.

"You don't want me to start reading from the handbook, do you?"

Alois sighed, getting to his feet and striking a pose. He flashed a peace sign and winked. Miss Marsha's small, almost nonexistant laugh was what he wanted to hear. Mission accomplished.

"No one," he spoke matter-of-factly, "has to tell me that my shorts are too short because I already know that! No one has to tell me that my clothes look like they belong on a mannequin at Rue 21. You know why?"

"Why?" Miss Marsha played into his game.

"Because I already know that... and if they don't know that by now, then they can die. All of them can die. I wouldn't care, Miss-"

"Alois, don't say that!" The woman warned. "I don't know why you're choosing this path. You're much smarter than how you've been acting, and it's just gotten worse, become over-the-top."

She paused, watching as Alois' head sank in withdrawl.

"I can't keep covering for you. This time, I have to call your mother."

All at once, the boy's head shot upwards again, and the distress was painted all over his face, causing greater disdain for Miss Marsha than the naked eye could possibly see. In reality, she truly risked her profession for a student that she knew was going down the wrong path at a fast pace. She just wanted to save him, but someone can't be saved unless they desire to be saved, and Alois Trancy was far too stubborn for anything like that.

Alois watched in shaken discontent as Miss Marsha picked up her cell phone and searched through her contacts until she found his mother's number. This wasn't the first time. Nothing was the first time anymore. Alois' mother hadn't gotten a call from her in awhile, but it was urgent at this point. Disappointment always set in for Alois, but it never really hits him.

As he sat there, expectant for that phone to stop ringing, dreading when his mother would finally answer it, he sighed. However, this sigh was different. It was soaked with sadness, blasted by misfortune. The sound caught Miss Marsha's attention, and all at once, she thought to herself, "Maybe this boy is depressed."

"Hello?"

Alois could hear his mother's voice on the other line.

"Hello, this is the school's guidance counselor calling about Alois again."

From there on, Alois blocked out their conversation. He had no desire to hear his mother's dismay. None at all. He was tired, exhausted, in fact, and he just wanted to go home already. Enough with the acedemic shit and fake concern; he needed to come in contact with his bed and fall into the deepest sleep.

Eventually, Miss Marsha hung up, and there was a short silence where Alois wouldn't (or rather, couldn't) stare the women straight in the eyes even though he could feel the tension as she stared at him.

It didn't matter. Alois didn't care. Everything he did was of his own accord, and in his mind, there was nothing and no one that would change that, change him, in fact. He was who he was. He was a pest, a nuisance to everyone around him. He was the epitome of detrimental, the essence of an insubordinate... and when the woman that had saved him so many times before parted her red-stained lips to speak again, Alois knew she had given up on him as well.

"Your mother's on her way."