Author's Note: I'm testing the waters with this fic, I don't know when I'll update next considering I have my other big fic going on but I'll be planning this out, hopefully, pretty far so when it comes down to writing I'll have a good layout. Warning for implied abuse also small amounts of strong language too.
~Shane/Vision

Fiyero

It's hot, Fiyero concludes. No matter how much circulation the car gets from having three of its windows wound down has little effect on the tomato red faces of the Tiggular family. So all he can do is lean against the side of the door, elbow teetering over the edge, hair whipping backwards as somewhat of a breeze dances through the strands of ash brown and bright red. The last of the city buildings- squashed together like a group of reluctant children in a family photo- slowly turn into open fields of green grass with colourful flowers that bleed into it and golden yellow wheat fields that sway in synchronization. And tall trees begin to take centre stage in groups of small woodland areas where tiny towns thrive beside.

His dad is still prattling on about family and reputation and honour and how it's Fiyero who's dragging the Tiggular name through the mud every chance he gets. That's not true, or it's the closest thing to it if his father could stop interfering with his life and bursting a blood vessel about whatever he's doing is not appropriate behaviour for the son of a high class businessman. It's his father who blows it out of proportion, so far Fiyero's been pretty lucky actually, no front page news articles on him and his delinquency yet. Only the chitter chatter between acquaintances of his parents because he's fucked over the kids of said acquaintances. But still, social status holds higher priority over the offspring, apparently.

Fiyero makes no attempt to stifle the yawn that he succumbs to, he becomes drowsy when it's hot and honestly, napping sounds like a wonderful alternative to listening to whatever his dad has to say. So Fiyero allows his eyelids to droop, his vision not completely black as the world outside of the car is brighter and louder thanks to the sun. His head lolls back against the headrest.

He's close to drifting off, just a small step further to falling into a place where he doesn't have to take any of his father's senseless crap.

"Do you understand, Fiyero?" his father's deep and demanding voice jolts him awake so Fiyero shoots a glare at the back of his seat.

"I don't know, it depends if you've finally said something relevant." he grits out.

"So you've been ignoring me?"

"Well, I prefer the term selective hearing but anything applies."

"This boarding school is your last chance, Fiyero. Your last chance before we take drastic measures, do I make myself clear to you?"

Fiyero rolls his eyes, knowing that his mother is faintly nodding in agreement with his father. She's always been one to keep within her husband's shadow when it's on a topic such as her son's future; timidly following, like a lamb to the slaughter. How many nights has she actually fought to take that wretched whiskey bottle out from Mr Tiggular's calloused hands, causing the cream coloured carpet to stain an ugly brown in random places where the liquid's been spilled, followed by the crashing of glass against the wall which too, is stained like the carpet; and Mrs Tiggular cries to the maids the next day as she struggles to clean the remnants of another shitty night with shaky hands clutching the dirty cloth too tight that the whites of her knuckles begin to show. Probably never, Fiyero presumes.

"What, and whip my way up the ranks at military school? Sure."

"I'm being serious." Mr Tiggular voice lowers to a tone more dangerous that even makes his wife look physically on edge.

"And so am I; if you just bothered to listen-"

"That's beside the point, I want what's best for this family as much as you or your mother."

"So you're kicking me out again and sending me somewhere further out this time. Huh, makes sense."

"You're not understanding Fiyero, we want you to make something of yourself and stop that stupid nonsense that's ruining our name."

"That's your problem right there." Fiyero scoffs.

"What?"

"That's your problem. You want me to live up to your expectations, your standards; frankly, you don't give a damn about how I want to live my life and you don't care when I try to talk to you about it, you just want to control whatever's within arm's reach of you."

"Fiyero." his mother quietly interrupts, surprisingly, "Please make this work." and the look she shoots him is enough to almost send him into a blind rage against his father, to impulsively throw him out of the car so Fiyero can drive him and his mother far away from this place, somewhere up north in Gillikin perhaps. In all honesty, he couldn't care where they'd end up.

He wants to jab at the back of the seat- kick it real hard with the toe of his shoe- but Fiyero knows that'll piss his father off even more so he leaves it be in the form of pent up anger he'll be sure to release later. The world feels less brighter now that he's had to endure one conversation with his father, the grass and leaves are a dull and swampy green and it's enough to turn his stomach.

Silence falls back into the car rather awkwardly with Fiyero making a now feeble attempt to ignore his father's mutters and mumbles about him; his jaw clenches when words such as ungrateful brat slip out of that silver tongued mouth of his. It doesn't matter what Fiyero says, his father, his controlling, self-centered bastard of a father has to have the last say, period.

Currently they're passing through a small town, very out in the country- stuck in the middle of nowhere, open fields on all sides- and judging by most of the architecture, it's also fairly old and historical. One long, wide strip of a high street containing various shops and a small supermarket divides the town in half, its residents making the most of what's to offer on each side. The town's not vastly populated either, maybe a couple thousand at best as Fiyero watches with tired eyes at the people who can do things to only appease themselves, a thought only his father would shake his head at.

("You are the heir to the business Fiyero, you have to buckle up for the sake of the family.)

(Fiyero shakes his head at that.)

They take a stop at the local gas station that's on a road just off the high street, a quick refill of the car and a couple of sandwiches bought from the service shop and they're soon making their way out of this quaint little world that thrives without much. It's different compared to a big city with its tall skylines and streets packed full of tourists and workers and shoppers. But it's a good different, everything is slower, makes you think a little more about things instead of having to dive right in with doubt riding on your back. Fiyero could see himself here, maybe for a couple of months or even a year, his mother would be happier here too; a small house with a white picket fence on the outskirts with the breathtaking view of the countryside at their back door. He could try and make that a reality once he's done with high school- get a job once he starts class, earn his own money on the side and save up. It's… it's something.

Like himself, Fiyero's mother is lost in the passing world going by. It's a rare sight to see such a small but genuine smile grace her face and it's a sight to remember and cherish, Fiyero would never trade his mother's happiness for anything. His father probably thought like that too once, long before Fiyero was born probably; on sweet dates to a park or cafe, when they'd do activities that couples tend to do, their wedding day and hell, even when Fiyero was born.

What had happened?

Oh, right. Fiyero grew up, that's what happened.

He grew up under the increasingly watchful eyes and controlling hands of his father, his mother quiet and obedient by his side with the look of uncertainty on her face. Extremely high demands thrown at him like the countless glass bottles and plates and other objects thrown at the wall in anger; actions to be feared as well as his father. Fiyero was never a timid kid, he learned not to be scared from a young age- being scared, his ten year old mind thought, was a job for his mother. He fought back, or at least he tried to, but being only a child back then Fiyero couldn't do much and had to relent more often than not; once he reached high school however, Fiyero definitely held his own when tensions rose in the Tiggular household. Yet all the anger he built up throughout his childhood projected onto him when in school as well, any little provocative thing could set him off and many a time he'd refuse to cooperate and abide by the rules which consequently saw him being moved several times in a year (wash, rinse, repeat).

So here he is, en route to his last chance, Shiz co-educational boarding school. His father kicking him out again, but if it means being away from the toxic man then so be it. Although what that makes of his mother once he's temporarily absent Fiyero can't help but worry about.

He's read about Shiz in a brochure his father slapped down on the dining table one morning and sternly told him to read through it. The campus is spacious, provides a lot of areas for students to study or just relax before classes; the school buildings are old, perhaps maybe a century or two but the interiors have been modernised to provide the best for its students. Yet Fiyero's father drones on about it as if it were some sort of harsh school set to whip the kids into shape, what Fiyero's read on the school is that it's pretty much the complete opposite- but he won't bring it up to his father, it seems better than all the previous schools he's been to.

Fiyero's fingers idly tap against his thigh, a random rhythm to something he could write and perform later.

(And he thanks the almighty that he managed to bring his guitar with him.)

The world's beginning to slow down as the car starts turning corners into another town- bigger than the previous one, more modern too- and its life seems younger. Fiyero sees it, sitting beside a hill, Shiz. It's bigger than what was seen in the brochure but that's to be expected of everything in print; there are trees too- presumably oak- tall and supposedly provides a lot of shade during the summer months.

The gates are already open, allowing the family to drive right through. Like himself, Fiyero's mother is captivated by the campus while his father maintains a neutral expression, his hard glare seemingly judging of the school's environment. Fiyero swallows a hard lump in the back of his throat. He's not nervous about going to yet another school, no, he's nervous his father will turn the car around because the school looks too… good- no last chances, just straight to solutions that would probably break him.

Someone's waiting for them outside of the main building. Their posture is perfect, standing at full height with hands clasped behind their back in a patient manner. Judging by the fact that they stepped closer to the curb when the car was closer in view, they've probably been expecting the family. It's a man, and with what he's wearing he could be the headmaster of the school, by all means it's a suit but it doesn't match in the slightest. A grey blazer over a white shirt and black trousers to finish, it's as if he'd been pulled out of an old black and white TV.

Fiyero's father steps out of the car with nothing but a sharp gesture signalling for his son to get out as well. And Fiyero does so, slowly, his mother too. His father's already shaking hands and exchanging curt greetings with the other man. Fiyero decides to lean against the car, feeling it's better not to interrupt while his mother sidles up against her husband, smiling as she too, exchanges greetings with the man, headmaster, whatever. He huffs, rolls his eyes and shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans- although the temptation to flip off a group of kids younger than him is luring, his fingers twitch against the fabric.

"So you must be Fiyero then?"

Startled, Fiyero looks towards the source of the voice and is met with a smile and an outstretched arm offering a hand. He takes it in his own, shaking shortly but firmly before withdrawing it back into his pocket.

"Uh, yeah."

The headmaster has got to be in his fifties at least but he holds a look of an actor that everyone, young and old, would swoon over. No wonder Fiyero can't stop staring.

"Welcome to Shiz, I am Principal Diggs, the headmaster. Your father has explained everything to me."

Fiyero swallows a dry lump in the back of his throat.

"We're going to make sure you don't waste this opportunity, ok?"

"Ok."

He follows Mr Diggs back over towards his parents, his father watching closely with a look indeterminable. Fiyero instantly tunes out once he starts talking though, mostly about what else Fiyero has done over the years and why this school could really turn him around with the right discipline. Sure.

His mother rests a hand on his arm, a reassurance. A soft whisper of comfort telling him that everything is going to be alright, like when things started going sour years ago. With a young Fiyero waking up in the middle of the night during one of his father's outbursts and his mother rushing into his bedroom to quiet him down as quickly as possible, holding him to her chest as they breathe together in a darkened room- only but the light of an alarm clock illuminating tiny sections on their skin- while everything outside succumbs to whatever sort of destruction Mr Tiggular holds.

Another bout of seething dryness seizes the back of Fiyero's throat. His father making the ever attempt to sugar coat his lies and place himself on that glowing pedestal of fake sainthood, for a man who's done what he has, he should be thrown into Hell's garbage bin.

Mr Diggs turns back to face Fiyero after an earful, surprisingly cutting Mr Tiggular off which has undoubtedly ticked him off judging by the red hue appearing all over his face.

"I assume you would like to get settled into a dorm room?"

"I, uh, yes."

A hiss pulls through Mr Tiggular teeth, his eyes narrowing a glare.

"Yes, sir." Fiyero corrects himself out of force of habit.

Mr Diggs' suspicious glance towards Fiyero's father doesn't go unnoticed, "Right, I think we can take it from here. I don't think your parents would appreciate being here longer than they should be. Traffic tends to pick up during the evening and considering the long journey back, I don't think it would be wise to leave later."

"Right." Mr Tiggular says with a bellowing chuckle as he shakes Mr Diggs' hand once more, "Of course. I thank you for this opportunity, on behalf of my wife and son. I hope your administration has taken care of Fiyero's room arrangements. I did specifically require no roommate for Fiyero after all, considering all the trouble he's caused."

"I understand, Mr Tiggular. I can assure you that my staff have handled everything to suit Fiyero's "needs"."

"Good!" he clasps his hands together, his whole demeanor shifting along with his eyes towards his son, "You better behave yourself boy, or you know what happens."

"I understand." Fiyero huffs, refraining from rolling his eyes, cursing under his breath while his father gets into the driver's seat as a substitute.

His mother hugs him lightly, telling him, almost begging him, to be good for the last two years of high school. He struggles to make that promise but vows that if his scumbag of a father does something to hurt her, he'll be on the next train back home to intervene and stop him once and for all. She nods silently with tear glazed eyes, shiny as the stars on a clear night, before scurrying into the passenger seat after her husband snaps for her to hurry up and quit wasting time. Fiyero's hands tighten into fists but they don't budge from his sides.

The car eventually groans into life, moving slowly down the road as Fiyero's mother calls for him, promising to telephone him at the weekend. He and Mr Diggs wave until the car turns a corner and is in the distance, as small as a bug as it retreats further towards the horizon.

"Your father sure is a… peculiar man." Diggs remarks.

Fiyero hums, "You don't know the most of it… uh, sir."

"You don't have to call me sir all the time. Mr Diggs is just fine. I'm not your father, I'm not going to do anything."

Fiyero runs his gaze up and down Mr Diggs with shock, his mouth moving as if he were talking but no words form on the tip of his tongue, "I'm sorry?"

But Diggs laughs, "I'm guessing your father didn't catch on that Shiz isn't a strict school?"

A shake of Fiyero's head comes in response.

"I see. Well, we don't believe that extreme discipline keeps our kids in check. They make mistakes, they get called out on it, and then they learn from those mistakes. Why punish a teenager for something that they can learn from? The only consequence our students receive is regret. Miss a class, you'll have a higher chance of failing, fail that class and you'll regret it. Why? Because it could have been a crucial class to help you get to where you're going in your life. Sure, detention still exists at Shiz but it's your choice whether to get your act together."

"Oh."

"But," there's a glimmer in his eye, "What sets Shiz apart from other boarding schools is that we give our students the flexibility of what to learn. We let them choose, of course academic lessons such as English and Math are compulsory but apart from those two, the options are endless. And chances are that the class sizes are smaller than standard."

"So you pride yourself on letting your students learn for themselves? They get to decide what to do but they'll still get repercussions if they misbehave."

"Precisely!"

"I wonder why dad didn't realise how too good of a school this is."

Diggs hums in agreement, "I wonder too." before he leads Fiyero, who just about manages to haul his luggage, down the wide path and through the doors of the main building.

"And here," Diggs huffs, pushing open the door to yet another building with Fiyero now struggling behind with only a duffel bag and a suitcase, "is the boys dorms."

"So this is where I'll be staying?"

"Yes. If I remember, administration has placed you in room thirteen, it's just down the end on the left."

"Oh, um, thanks."

"You're welcome Fiyero. You start next week like everyone else, enjoy the weekend."

"Will do." Fiyero steps forward before Diggs interrupts once more.

"And Fiyero, it's going to be alright here."

Fiyero smiles in return, watching the man leave the building to walk across the campus. He presses his mouth into a line as he walks down the hall, passing by rooms, half of those already occupied with students both quiet and loud. He mumbles to himself- room thirteen, down the end on the left.

Seconds pass too quick once Fiyero stops outside of the door. Images of his father pass through his mind, words of him telling Fiyero that the next boarding school he goes to there will be no roommate. That he'll have a room by himself, which yes, although is good for a while but it starts to get lonely especially when you're the new kid. It probably never helped that Fiyero's an only child too, always having to rely on his imagination to have fun. His parents were always busy, well his father mostly, his mother would play but she had other duties around the house.

"It'll be ok. It'll be ok. It'll be ok." he reassures himself as he twists the handle of the door, hearing it creak open as a form of protest.

Fiyero expects to be met with two empty beds but only one is vacant. The other however, is occupied by a blond boy surrounded by books and magazines sprawled across the sheets, an arm is wedged between his head and the pillow. His other arm lies across his stomach, his hand holding a book as his eyes manage to flick towards the source of the sound. It takes a moment for his face to register an emotion of sorts but suddenly, he jumps to his feet- almost as if he flew from his bed- with half of the books and magazines toppling to the floor. He extends an eager hand out in front of him, his eyes a bright blue, as blue as the sky in the early morning and his golden blond hair sticking up in several directions.

"I'm Avaric Tenmeadows, your new roommate. And you are?" he greets.

Fiyero had been completely sure he wasn't expecting a roommate, not after what his father told the administration at Shiz. But this Avaric person- who had been lying on one of the beds with a tank top clinging too tight to his torso and skinny jeans slipping below his hips- makes Fiyero's cheeks burn in ways he's never really felt.

"Fiyero!" Fiyero squawks, "I'm Fiyero Tiggular."

"Well Fiyero Tiggular, it's good to meet you!"

Avaric's hands are smooth and pleasantly soft like the smile that lifts his cheeks up towards his eyes giving him little creases at the edges. Fiyero has to withdraw his hand quickly to run it through his hair or scratch the back of his neck, something to keep him moving, keep him focused on something else and not Avaric Tenmeadows.

"Do you need help with your things?"

"Oh um, no. I'm fine, I haven't got much anyway. I'm sure I can manage."

He's sure Avaric's face dropped momentarily before resuming his cheery self, "Oh, alright. Just ask if you do, ok?" and he begins to pick up the belongings he knocked from his bed.

Fiyero watches Avaric briefly, sitting on the balls of his feet while neatly gathering up the books and magazines together- his tank top rides up his back slightly. He turns his head away when the ghost of a blush rises to his cheeks again, his luggage standing behind him as if they're threatening to laugh at him.