Author: His Little LabRat
Story: How I Met Your Lab Tech
Chapter: Back In the Day – Part One (Chapter 1)
Summary: How Nick really first met the DNA guru, Greg Sanders (But Nick doesn't really know that). (NickGreg friendship, preslash, slash, blah blah blah!)
Author's Notes: I really have no fragging idea (yes, I am a die-hard Transformers fan, woot) how in the name of… PRIMUS (more Transformers, because I am not Christian or anything… no religion) (Don't kill me! -cowers-) I came up with this story… but I like it. And, I hope you do!
Author's second note…? When writing this story, I was listening to "Who Let You Go" by the Killers (the ENTIRE TIME!) and I think they are a great band, so, I am giving them credit with help for my story! I THANK THE KILLERS! (Wait, that came out wrong… pun – if there is one – not intended!) At the end, however, I started listening to "I Love You To Death" by Family Force Five, so yeah… I give them credit too.
June 17th, 1988 2:13 AM – Dallas, Texas
My name is Nick Stokes. I am seventeen, a senior in high school. No, wait… I am now a freshman in college, giving it's the summer. It's just a little past the middle of June, almost two after midnight.
I am walking at two in the morning, walking along the sidewalk, gazing at the little huddle of trees beside me that goes on for as far as I can see over the hill I am coming up. Cars pass by me rarely, and I am half-blinded by their always-white headlights that zoom past at the speed limit of twenty-five miles an hour. It's surprisingly cold out tonight, giving it is June down here in Texas, where I live.
I am wearing a black hoodie, the sleeves cut off so that I feel almost punk, hood resting down my back, zipper in the middle, zipped up so it's tight-fit. A pair of navy blue jeans, little stitches and patches here and there, tears over the knees that I have yet to fix up. Short black hair that is parted over to the left, curling over my forehead… now, thinking about it, I wonder if I am invisible in the pitch of night, wondering if the drivers of the cars that pass me by occasionally can see me. Probably not, but it doesn't matter to me, really.
I like it at night. It's tranquil, almost… to me, at least. Silence settles in, cold runs chills up and down your back, giving goose bumps on your arms. I'm not scared that easily really. In fact, I like the feeling it gives you. Makes me laugh a little. Besides, at night, it's cool (unlike the day), and you aren't blinded entirely by the sun, only by the headlights on the cars that haven't passed in a while. Giving it's two after midnight, I don't expect anyone too though, almost glad that they aren't.
Well, at the top of the hill now, almost recapping my life. I am starting down the hill.
I can see a car, I think it's a Jeep… or maybe an SUV, - I can't tell from my distance. Still walking when a kid is literally kicked out of the backseat and rolls into the dirt. I stop, ducking behind a tree, hearing a scream from inside the car.
"… Out!" I hear the person yell, but I missed the first part of the sentence from my distance and cover. "Or I'll beat you to a pulp, kid!" They yelled again.
"Beat it, twerp!" Another yelled, and now I guessed there were at least three or four people in the car, seeing the driver hadn't talked yet, but the passenger did. The kid is bent over, coughing up something. I think it's… blood. "You're not useful to us anymore now that we have what we came for!" Now, I am glad I am behind a tree as a tall man steps out from the backseat to jump out and kick the kid so hard he is slammed against a tree, coughing up more… blood. The man steps back into the car and I duck down to avoid being seen as the men race off in my direction, but continue down the road until they disappear over the hill.
I turn, bolting straight over to the kid.
He's crying bullets, blood trickling down his cheeks like his tears.
He's a cute kid… aside from the blood. He's even cute while he's crying… which is awkward. Deep blond, sandy hair that is spiked up, shaved on the sides to keep the volume. But now, the spikes are drooping as the tears fall onto his hair. He's upside down, I notice as I am about ten feet away. Thin, lean, looks about fourteen. Way too young to be out this late at night… then again, I am too. Then again, everyone is… but that is absolutely beside the point.
The kid rolls over and curls up into a ball as I am now five feet away. I am running over now, slowing down though as I notice he can't hear any of my calls over his loud sobs. He seems lost somehow, like he is far from home, far from his parents, far from anyone he knows.
Standing over him, I lean over to touch him. He jolts alive, backing away from me with panicking screams that I read as "Don't hurt me! Don't kill me! Please, mercy, mercy! Dear god, don't kill me!" I am standing in the same position, the kid now backed up against a tree, begging, sobbing for mercy. His eyes are pressed shut and he seems tense, like he is ready to brace himself for a brutal beating. He is still begging for mercy, only about two feet away from me. I take a step towards him, kneeling down to touch his knee cap. He jolts back at the touch, screaming and sobbing "Don't hurt me, please! Mercy!" His eyes are still pressed shut. His hics and sobs calm now and he opens his eyes slowly, shaking his head in trembles to look at me, obviously scared out of his mind. He is still crying, the tears still mingling with the blood on his lips.
"Hey, kiddo…" I say, cooing to him softly, whisper little shh's to him, telling him its okay. "It's okay, kiddo; it'll be alright… everything is okay now…" I am cut off from my coos when he jolts forward, lapsing his arms over me so fast that I am pressed backward onto my back, him on top of me. I brace myself for impact, but I was too late and I groan a little, silenced from his sobs onto my shoulder.
He is light-weight, and I can feel his ribs. He feels like he hasn't eaten in a while, like he was starved. My hands are at my sides and I wrapped them around him, shaking a little, still a bit startled from this situation. I rub his back like friends would do, and his sobs become less and less until I only know he is crying because of the tears I still feel falling down into my shirt, plopping down on my chest underneath my hoodie-shirt. I sit up slowly and he pulls up with me. He sits between my legs and I smile gently at him, arms at my side again. God damn, is he cute.
I lift my right arm, smiling softly at him still, putting my hand to his cheek, holding it softly. He has silk for skin, smooth and soft. I use my thumb to wipe away a tear from he eye. "It's okay, kiddo," I coo to him. "Everything'll be alright…" I coo still, giving him little shh's and okay's. I can see him shaking – it's a shake that shows their almost emanate doom, like they were kidnapped or something.
After what seems like forever later he sits calm between my legs. Tears have stopped, hics and sobs, et cetera. He's quiet and smiles kindly at me.
"Now tell me, kiddo," I say to him calmly, still giving a little coo to him to keep him calm. Dear God, he is cute. "What's your name?"
"G-Greg…" he manages to hic up, giving me a little, shy smile like I had; a friendly, cute one. "My n-name is… Greg S-Sanders…" he whispers again, smiling, obviously trying to calm himself again.
"I'm Nick – Nick Stokes. Okay, Greggo," I say, cooing him with a little nickname I conjured up instantly. He smiles at the little name and takes a deep breath before I start again. "What happened to you?" I can still see him giving little shivers occasionally, lips blood red as the blood trickles from them. He jolts after a while into a twitch, then settles again, looking down, eyes pressed shut. I know he doesn't want to talk about it, because I can relate… "Never mind, I'll just ask you again later." I say, giving a gentle laugh.
"Later," he copies, blinking.
"Well, do you known anyone that lives nearby?" He shakes his head. "Do you… have anywhere to stay?" He shakes his head again. I purse my lips, thinking. "Where do you live, Greg?" I ask and he has to think about it.
"California, in Los Angeles," he stuttered out and I practically fell over, but my elbows pushed me back up to my hands. I cough a little, shocked.
"Do you know where you are?" I ask him, needing to know.
"Texas," he answers, still stuttering, scared still. "R-right?"
"Yeah," I answer. "We're in Texas. Do you know where in Texas?" He has to think, but then shakes his head. I sigh softly, thinking o what to do. He knows we're in Texas, but he doesn't know anyone, so I can't just leave him here…
"C-can… I stay with y-you?" He mumbles out.
"You've got nowhere to go, right?" I ask him and he shakes his head, affirming my question. I release my breath slowly, almost in a sigh. "Look's like you will hav'ta."
I walk up to my house, standing in my driveway, Greg still caught at my side. I sigh softly to myself and continue up to my front door. I turn out a key as Greg studies the house, blinking gently as he intakes the ranch style. I open the door slowly, looking into the room to my right. I step in, Greg followed behind me. I walk slowly into the room after slipping off my shoes, Greg follow me still. I realize as Greg steps along, that he isn't wearing shoes. I think of how bad his feet must hurt and I almost wince. I step forward to a chair, leaning around it to my sister. She looks at me, a little smile on her face as she looks at me.
"Hey, Meg," I say, smiling softly. "I uh… brought a friend…" I say and she leans over to look to where I am, following my gaze to the blond-haired boy. He is looking around the room, seeming to take in almost every detail. He's faced away, but when he feels our gaze, he turns around to smile at me, then looks to my mom with a more gentle smile.
"Hello, Mrs. Stokes," he says politely, almost giving a bow. After what he had been through, I'd thought he'd be too petrified to do anything.
"Hello," she says back, smiling kindly at him. "I hear you are a friend of my brother," she says, giving a kind laugh. "I am Megan, but you may call me Meg. I am Nick's sister. What might your name be?"
"Greg," Greg says to her. "Greg Sanders."
"Pleasure to meet you, Greg," she smiles kindly to him. Then, she gives him a more spectacle look. "How old might you be, Greg?"
"Pleasures' mine," he says. "And I am fourteen years old," he adds in answer, gazing around the room again. I smile, almost laughing at him.
"Fourteen, hmm?" She asks, giving me a little nudge as Greg smiled back at me. "How did you meet little Nicky?"
"I'm not little, Meg," I had to say.
"You may not be real little anymore," Meg said with a keen laugh at me. "But you are still my little brother, Nicky," she gives what sounded like a giggly laugh. I snicker back to her and Greg smiles sweetly. Then, Meg turns back to Greg. He's smiling still, looking around the room.
"Well, we just met," Greg said, and I can still sense a bit of a stutter in his voice. He's looking at something on a shelf on a bookcase across from him and he walks over to it. "What's this?" Greg asks, turning away from the bookcase to look at Meg and I.
"That's a ship in a bottle," Meg answers for me. I give a little laugh, seeing how he completely ignored her question. Usually, Meg would tell you if you're ignoring her question, even to people she just met. But, she didn't because Greg spoke up again as he turned away from us to the bookshelf.
"Interesting," he said.
"Nick made it a few years back," Meg said, now preaching to him about my teenage life – ode to joy…
"Awesome," Greg says, turning to smile at me, hands in his hoodie pockets. I just noticed he was wearing a shirt that was a whitish color, a waving British flag on it with words I couldn't read because they were covered by the side of his hoodie. It was tight fit, like his pants. Typically, they were jeans, but they were tight fit too… navy, like mine, with splotches of tears and blood on them that made spatters that didn't seem to fit the pattern of them at all. Still, he wasn't wearing shoes, or socks, just plain and straight up barefoot.
"Well…" Meg says, rolling up her left sleeve to check the time. "I'd better set off for bed," she says, then turns to us. "You two better do the same. Sorry, Greg, but… you'll have to sleep with Nick tonight, if you are staying. Our spare room is full with my other brother." She gave a little laugh when Greg nodded gently with a soft smile.
"I am good with that," Greg says, then turns to me. "That okay with you, Nicky?" I smile at the nickname, softly, more to myself than him.
"Yeah," I say. "The bed's big for the two of us." I give a nod and Meg stands up, brushing off her pajama bottoms with a gentle nod of goodnight to the two of us. Greg nods back and I give a little half-wave. I turn back to the blond. "Alright G, we better go to bed too." I actually feel like Greg is my friend, instead of some stranger who was chucked out of a car and beaten to a pulp in front of me. Greg nodded, smiling softly to me, following me again as I went up the stairs.
Laying in bed now. I am closest to the wall, Greg across from me, closer to the door. He is so cute, and I'm just staring at him. He has girlish features. Red lips (we wiped off the blood before coming home, thank God), girly eyes, a great figure, everything more like that of a girl than a guy. His eyes are closed, but they open as I watch. He blinks at me slowly, giving a little smile.
"Nick…" he whispers to me and I blink at him, looking at his chocolate green eyes. "How am I going to get home?"
I am silent at first, thinking. "Well, I don't really know, Greg," I whisper to him, and what I say is about the truth. "G, how did you get here?" He still had yet to tell me his story.
"It's a long story…" he says, blinking and looking down, probably recapping on what happened.
"I've got all night," I say, giving a little, friendly smile. "Well… giving it's three in the morning, all morning, I guess…" I smile, giving a little laugh like he does.
Greg licked his lips. "Well, my grandparents are like… rich, okay?" He whispers to me.
"What's that have to do with you getting home and how you got here?" I ask. I think I'm being stubborn, but I am stubborn and curious by nature…
"Just listen okay?" I nod at him and then he continues. "Well, my grandparents are rich. My parents, I live in California with them, brought me to my grandparents… a week ago, I don't know, I was never good at keeping track of time… anyway, I was at my grandparents' having a jolly good time." He was sarcastic at the two words "jolly" and "good" and he suddenly sounded British for some reason. "Then, I was kidnapped like that," he snapped his fingers and I flinched at that and the thought. I settled back down and he continued after a brief pause. "I was with my kidnappers and blah," I really don't see how he can consider this "blah." At all. Oh well… "And my grandparents paid the stupid ransom, and they were "going to return my shortly afterword."
"They didn't," I noted, making sure I was correct. I was surprised at how well he could tell his story, like nothing was wrong.
"Yeah, I wasn't returned…" he paused. "Man, that makes me feel just like a piece of clothing from a clothing store or something, sheesh…" we laughed a little. I don't see how we could find it funny, but it was. "Anywho, I was probably, like, drugged or something…" he rolled his eyes. "Next thing I know, I'm sitting in your lap, crying like a little kid who lost his dog or something."
"I don't think I'd consider you "little" or a puppy at all," I say, blinking at him. He smiles and gives a little laugh to me. "Where do you grandparents live, anyways?"
"Texas." He gives a short pause, a really short pause. "Well, that's my lame story," Greg says, smiling sarcastically and rolling his eyes.
"Lame?" I ask, sitting up just a little to get a better view of him across from me. "How is that lame? That must've been so fucking scary…" I didn't care if I swore, and he didn't seem to care either. He just shrugged.
"Eh," he rolled his eyes. I rolled my eyes too, then laid back down. He smiled at me and I wondered why. "It was scary, I have to admit, but I feel fine with you," at least, I think he said "with you." I don't really know, but I took it as a compliment and smiled. It was silent for a little while… then he spoke up again. "You know, you're a really cool guy," he said, smiling at me. "Has anyone ever told you that?"
I laugh at this, almost too hard. "Nope, never." I answer, giving a little laugh.
"I mean, you're so cool," he informs me. "You're nice, helpful and…" he sticks out his tongue in a little frown, at a loss for words.
"I used to be a troublemaker," I laugh and he does too.
"You seem more brotherly than anything,"
"Maybe it's just you," I laugh.
"You think so?" Greg asks. I nod and stick out my tongue a little to give a little laughing wink. He laughs again. "I take that as a compliment," we laugh almost silently. "I love you."
I'm silent, thinking, wondering if he actually said that. "What?"
"What?" He asks, blinking at me.
"What did you say?" I raise an eyebrow at him.
"I didn't say anything," Greg says, glancing away, probably thinking or… he's looking at me with those eyes again. Those beautiful chocolate green eyes and I… I need to stop thinking so much. I blink out of his trance. I still lay facing him, him facing me. I give a little smile and smiles back. I watch him as his eyes close again, but longer this time. I think he's falling asleep… yeah, he is. Man, he is out cold… I raise a hand to ruffle his hair a little. Jesus Christ, whose hair is this fucking soft?! His hair still has bits of dirt and bark in it and looks more like he fell down a mountain than was tossed out of a car. I find myself stroking his right cheek, which is irritably soft and smooth. He's definitely out cold… doesn't even move. He just kind of lets me do whatever I want… I thought about something, but I shock myself and stick out my tongue in a disgusting motion. I could've sworn he just laughed and smiled, but maybe he's dreaming. I wonder what he could dream about that would make him smile like that…?