SUMMARY: Tortured at school and ignored by everyone else, Bill Trü mper has nothing. As his third year in high school begins, Bill's life only seems to get darker which each name, each shove. The only one that keeps him going is his best friend Tom, but as he slowly slips away too, Bill's final guiding light flickers and dies. Yet, even the lowest of dogs will have its day.

A/N: Okay, I know I should not be starting yet another story, but this was scratching at my mind like there was no tomorrow and I have big plans for this little tale. All the warning and ratings will be posted in the next chapter, so for now, enjoy!

"Welcome to junior year, Trümper!" Thick meaty hands gripped Bill's bony shoulders and the next thing he knew he was careening towards the wall. Bill was slammed bodily into his locker as a group of boys passed, all of them sneering at him, laughing like hyenas as he collapsed to the floor in pain, clutching his shoulder and touching his sore cheek softly. One in particular, the one who had shoved him, was grinding his heavy fist into the palm of his hand, his dark eyes burning straight into Bill's with a deep-seated hatred Bill could not explain. He dropped his gaze fast. Already he was on their radar, and the year had not even started yet.

"Haha! He's just as much of a freak as he was last year! What a fuckin' fag!"

"Did ya see that makeup? Looks like we're gonna have a lot of fun this year!" Bill cringed. He heard their jeering still after they had disappeared through the throng of teenagers, their voices ringing loud above all others in the crowded hall. School hadn't even started, and he wanted to go home, wanted to become invisible.

Bill wrung his hands together in his lap, his head falling forward and his long, thick black hair spilling from behind his ears to curtain his face. He did not get up too quickly, but rather sat there on the floor for a while, other students and teachers passing without a sideways glance at him; he was beneath them, beneath them all, always had been and they made sure he knew it. At least this low he was safe, outside of their range of vision as they all walked so tall, chattering excitedly with friends long missed over the summer vacation and exchanged schedules. Bill just sat there, alone.

As the hall slowly cleared, a final warning bell sounding in the distance for the first class of the new year to begin, only then did he move to gather his books. Dirty shoeprints covered his new, shiny notebooks, and long, spindly folds split the cover of his binder where it had been stepped on, but he did not care; it was better than his face. He worked slowly, gathering each page that had been ripped out and meticulously placing it back within the notebooks so that not even a single edge was out of place. Bill finally stood up, dusting himself off and his books as he clutched them tight to his chest like a shield, glancing this way and that up and down the hall, just in case someone else had missed the bell too and would see him.

His face throbbed heatedly where it had hit the locker and his head ached slightly from impact, but it was not that bad, he had suffered worse. Bill knew there would be a bruise there tomorrow, but after having dealt with the same treatment or worse for so long, it did not faze him; he had concealer, no one would be able to notice.

Not that anyone cares.

His cold fingers spread across his cheek soothingly and with the other hand he spun the combination lock on his locker, his notebooks and binder balancing precariously on his arm. A sharp clang told him it was open and he dropped a few of the notebooks inside, he would come back for them later.

The door to his locker suddenly slammed shut, the tips of his painted fingernails barely outside the range of its swing as he snatched his hand back. Bill jumped a foot into the air, the remainder of his books dropping once more to the floor.

"Long time, no see, Bill," someone greeted him from where they leaned up against the neighboring lockers.

Wide eyed, Bill took a fast step backwards, his body tensing and bracing for impact as his arms shot up towards his face. Bill squeezed his brown eyes shut tightly without even bothering to look and see who it was – he just hoped it would end quickly.

Baggy jeans rustled loudly and tennis shoes squeaked across the tile floor as his assailant dropped to their knees in front of him. "Chill!" Calloused hands wrapped around his wrists and pulled them away from his face gently. "Relax, dude, it's just me!"

Bill's hands dropped reluctantly away from his face and he looked nervously down into Tom's worried brown eyes. "You scared the shit out of me, Tom!" he breathed, letting the breath he had been holding go shakily. His pallid face finally lit up for the first time in what seemed like a century. He chuckled nervously, pulling his arms away from Tom and dropping down on his haunches next to him to pick up his books. Bill looked up when his friend didn't say anything in response and saw him frowning, the creases in his forehead deepening as his dark eyebrows furrowed further. Bill's smile faltered for a split second, but he replaced it with one he hoped was brighter than the last. He held up a trembling hand in front of Tom. "Haha, look, I'm still shaking, you jer-"

"Bill, is something up?" The corners of his mouth pulled down further.

Forcing a laugh again, Bill shook his head with a bit too much enthusiasm, his hair flying wildly. "No! Are you kidding me? It's the beginning of the year; there hasn't even been enough time for there to be 'something up'! It was just a reflex, you know." He shrugged nonchalantly, assuring himself with this more than his best friend.

Tom worried his lip ring, the frown on his face lessening but not disappearing. He stared into Bill's brown eyes for a moment, watching them, before finally and slowly nodding his head in acceptance of Bill's explanation. "Yeah, okay, fine." He got to his feet and extended his hand down to Bill who was still kneeling on the floor, dreads spilling over his shoulders as he leaned forward.

Books tucked under one arm, he grasped Tom's hand and was pulled to his feet. "So, what are you doing out here anyway? Skipping the very first class of the year isn't really a good way to start off." Tom shoved his hands in his pockets, watching Bill dust himself off.

"I could ask you the same thing, Goody-two-shoes," he retorted, grinning when Bill flipped him the bird.

"What, I can't skip class every once in a while?" Bill asked with, playing at being offended.

"Uh, no," Tom answered flatly.

"You're a jerk!" Bill griped, punching Tom in the shoulder and running off before he could return it. He had already pushed the morning's previous events to the back of his mind as Tom dashed after him, the echoes of their footfalls and Bill's tinkling laughter bouncing along the walls of the empty corridors. Bill had even forgotten that he'd wanted to disappear, that he'd wanted to be invisible.

He would remember soon enough.

A/N: Thoughts? Love? ;)