I really doubt that this has been done before. If it has, I apologize to the original author who came up with it. This section really disturbs me, and I didn't feel like searching through the many frightenly unnerving fics to see if I was being all creative. So, yeah. I'm trying to make something different, here. I'm probably going to offend a whole slew of people, but who really cares? Obviously not me, as I am writing this fic of perverseness. ^^

So, here ya go.

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The auditorium was packed to its limit. Most children practically sat on top each other in order to fit. The air inside the domed room was thick and hot, elevating the temperature to an uncomfortably stuffy level. Some kids were randomly falling over into convulsions from claustrophobia, and all others were practically suffocating.

The principal of the school trotted up onto the stage in front of all the groaning, sweaty children, her face cheery despite the lawsuits she'd probably have to face for organizing this rally.

"Welcome back to school, children!" she sung merrily into the microphone, her Irish lilt shrill to the ears of already suffering children. "Whoo, it's a bit warm in here," she noted quietly, wiping a hand over her forehead. "Ah, well." She again raised her voice to a shrieking level. "This year's gonna be a great one! I can just feel it! We have many exciting things planned for you! You'll just love it!"

She continued to drawl on and on as her students continued to pass out. Far in the back, pressed up against a wall, sat Timmy Turner. He groaned, shifting against the weight of his surrounding classmates, attempting to find a more comfortable position. His arm was already pinned between his side and the wall in an inhuman position, almost twisted to the point of serious injury. He could feel bruises developing on bruises, sharp angles of children's elbows and knees stabbing into him. He let out a long wail lost among the countless other cries of miserable kids.

"Guys," he whispered harshly to his pink and green shoelaces, "You gotta help me get some air, or I'm gonna die!"

"What do you want us to do about it?" Wanda asked indignantly, "We're stuck too! There's no room to move in here!" With a swing of her rose-colored eyes, she motioned to the large kid in front of them, who was practically sitting on Timmy's foot. "If we try to lift out wands, we'll touch him! Besides, there's nothing magical we can do without exposing ourselves to 20 other kids in this cramped place."

Timmy whimpered as his face was crushed against the wall. "I feel like my lungs are being pummeled with a hammer every time I try to breathe!" he gasped.

"I feel like I have two hundred pounds of butt crushing my spleen!" Cosmo said cheerfully. He glanced up, noticing for the first time the large kid was planted on his middle. "Wow! I DO have two hundred pounds of butt crushing my spleen! My brain is working!" He grinned proudly to his pink lacey counterpart. She merely rolled her eyes.

Far off in another corner near the stage, the pastel pink form of Cupid hovered, grinning from ear to ear. Beneath him sat two children, who had become suggestively positioned during the rush to pack everyone in. The girl blushed lightly as she and the boy whose lap she was sharing continued on their conversation. The two children were taking advantage of the slightly uncomfortable placing to get to know one another.

But, as the time passed, their words slowly grew increasingly flirtatious. Cupid knew this was his time to strike. Reaching swiftly over his shoulder, he drew his golden bow. Grasping it in one hand and a heart-speared arrow in the other, he pulled the line taut, aiming.

"They'll make the cutest couple!" he giggled to himself, his feathery wings flapping with glee. But, just as he was about to let the love arrow fly, the door behind him swung open, smashing him and several children, including the flirty duo, into the wall behind it. "Noooo -- !" he screamed through his pain, the arrow's designated target thrown off even as he released. It flew, unchecked, flimsily into the back of the crowd.

Right into the ass of Timmy Turner. The unfortunate child had managed to turn around, and had been attempting to pull his Cosmo lace out from under the chunky kid through a crawling technique when he was struck. The force of the hit spun him back around, twisting his ankle painfully and causing the green shoelace to let out a squawk.

Timmy moaned softly, his world spinning around him. He vaguely heard Wanda questioning his condition, but her voice was distorted, as if she were contained in a can. The bright lights of the stage glistened before him like fireflies through the dusk, glowing softly within the haze of his vision. He felt like he was falling, the mass of children around him a huge shadow of blackness threatening to swallow him up.

Then, he saw him. An inhumanly thin form strode onto the stage, all but glowing with heroism, brighter than the hazy lights of the stage. His light shone through the room, throwing the shadows surrounding Timmy into a frenzy as they shrieked. And then they were gone. Defeated by the light. Timmy found he could breathe again, the haze diffusing from his sight. He felt a warm feeling bubble up within him, a newfound feeling of affection towards his hero.

"Who . . . is that?" he asked dreamily. He could practically feel his eyes shaping themselves into hearts. Wanda raised an eyebrow.

"Who?"

"That wonderful man on stage . . . " Timmy whispered, pointing a shaky finger in his direction.

"We still can't see, Timmy!" Wanda cried indignantly.

"Oh, okaaay . . . "

"Mr. Crocker, please!" the principal's voice rang out from the stage.

"Fairy! I whiffed. A FAIRY!"

The children packed into the auditorium were shrieking with joy as they poured out the newly opened door, without any regard for those who had been squashed behind it by Crocker's entry.

"It's in here! I know it's in here!" Crocker screamed, swinging his fairy- detector around madly. "My equipment NEVER LIES!"

"Denzel, please!" the principal cried, barely managing to dodge the scanning device. "I'm trying to govern a rally here! I'm in no mood for your --" she paused, turning her gaze from the spazzing teacher to the audience. Or lack of one.

They had all streamed out the door beside the stage, and their thanks to Mr. Crocker for releasing them echoed throughout the hallways. She frowned, fuming.

"Now, see what you did! It took forever to get them all in here, and now! Look! Only that drooling little pink-hatted boy is left!" She was looking as if she might pop a vein when suddenly, she underwent an abrupt mood swing. Grinning, she continued. "Oh well, guess we'll have to break away from tradition and start the school year without a rally this time!"

Mr. Crocker nodded absently, still scanning the room. "I know they're in -- " His device began beeping rabidly, and he looked up from the gridded screen. "Aha! Turner! I should've known!" Stabbing a finger at Timmy, who's eyes were glazed over as he stared at him, Crocker screamed, "The boy has fairies. IN HIS SHOES! And once I get a hold of his. FAIRY! GOD! PARENTS! I can --"

"Yes, yes, we've all heard it before. Just go back to your classroom and resume your teaching."

Muttering something devious under his breath, Crocker reluctantly obeyed. "Come on, Turner," he grumbled, addressing Timmy out of the corner of his eye, "I'll get to you and your fairies later." With that, he stalked out the autitorium doors, closely followed by a pink-clad boy with a assembly of little floating hearts trailing behind him.

--~~*~~--

To be continued . . .

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Yep. All lines after, "My equipment never lies!" were written in a rush, so forgive me. And shut up. Yes, one-sided Timmy/Crocker. Oh, just you wait. It gets much better. Or . . . worse, as some opinions may see it. Yes. Review. Open flames are accepted. Intelligible and otherwise. I want your honest to God opinion on this. Even if it means stuff like, "omg, Croker & Timy no way!!!!!11one u suk mak smthng better w/ ur life rite Timmy/Trixie plz!!!11"

Yes, I am accepting mindless flamers. Honest to God opinions people.

'Till the next brain meat frying chapter . . .