Disclaimer: Worm is owned by Wildbow. Some of the dialogue between Emma and Taylor comes from the original source.

I just left behind a rough part of my life, and the last months have been wonderful for me, I came to Ff to read a little and logged in my account, and received a lot of notifications on follows and favorites for this story, and I told to myself, "well, I liked writing about Worm, so why not?" Since last time, I also discovered Grammarly was a thing and created an account on SB, so I will be probably crossposting this there and cleaning it up a bit.

By the way, English is not my first language, this is as much an exercise on my use of it as a recreational activity.

I do not have a beta, so if you just happen to be one…you know, wink wink, nudge nudge. Also, if you aren't interested, but you spot a typo, error or you have a suggestion about how to improve a particular sentence, please feel free to send a PM or leave a review.

About the story:

This is an alt-power! Taylor, featuring an original character that has knowledge of the future of the setting through shard shenanigans, and there is going to be a locker scene, though I'm going to try to be original with it. The perspective will be shared between the OC (original character) and Taylor, usually alternating from chapter to chapter.

Also, I don't plan on following canon step by step, that is, ABB, Leviathan, Coil, S9… but I plan to follow the hard facts stipulated on the setting (WoG doesn't always apply), so if you spot what you think is an error, please tell me.

Friend 01

"Hey, Damian!," I heard Al calling behind me as he walked towards me, "I'm heading to the park with Ben and Harry, you come?"

I pulled my math notebook out of my locker before closing it, taking a moment to look at the thin, gawky teen that was approaching to me before answering, "Sorry Al." I answered as we walked down the hallway, looking at him with an apologetic smile that I hoped was coming across as intended. "I have to turn in Quinlan's assignment if I want to keep up my notes."

Al snorted and looked at me as if what I had just said was the stupidest thing he had heard in the entire day. "Pfh, seriously dude? 'I have to do my homework if I want to keep my notes' he said with a mocking, whiny tone, that it cracked one or two times was completely intentional, of course.

"Mom has a lot of worries right now, I need to keep doing at least "good" if I want to get the scholarship." Al seemed to relent at that. His mouth closed, and he looked at me with a regretful glaze. My family financial struggles weren't any secret to my circle of friends at school, and even though I tried to not make a big deal out of them, Al and the others were usually very careful not to bring it up while conversing with me.

You could say a lot of things about Alan Matthews; he would even accept most of them, he wasn't the most brilliant, or the most athletic, or even a decent person at times, but he understood what family really meant, and he respected it.

"Okay, I'll pass you that one, but he's too drunk to even notice that you're not there! I mean, half the time he falls asleep in the middle of class, can't you just turn it in tomorrow or something?"

"Yeah, normally. But he got kicked to the couch by his wife again, so he's gonna take it out on us. Ten bucks he's gonna say something like 'this one is gonna count as a forty percent of the year note.'" I smiled, this time I went for a strained one.

"Shit!," He said, his expression contrite, "you sure?"

I tried to grin at him, the expression, like always, felt somehow unnatural, the muscles all around my mouth tensing and contracting in ways that should result familiar by now but simply weren't, even if I liked to think I was improving. "Yeah, tough."

"Oh, fuck you Hofstadter!" he said while trying to shoulder-check me. I dodged and he almost crashed against some random senior girl. Fortunately for both of them, she managed to get out of the way just in time, spending only half a second to direct a spiteful glare in our direction.

"S-sorry!" He called after her, even as we kept walking side by side, stepping into the staircase. I barely hear her muter 'fucking idiots' as she walked away.

He glared at me but said nothing, as we reached the second floor and continued on our way to the third one. I tried to maintain a blank face, which unlike the smile came to me easily enough.

"I'm a fucking mess, ain't I?" He said with a resigned sigh. At this point I was starting to suspect he had forgotten all about his plans to go to the park. I honestly was starting to feel bad for messing with him.

"Well…" I said, finally throwing him a bone.

He Turned to look at me. "...Well?"

" Well, I might have brought a second copy of my work, and I might have forgotten to put my name at the top of the sheet.

"... How much?" A smile for his scowl.

"Well, I did say I would bet ten bucks."

"Damian, I'm like, your best friend in the whole school, are you being serious?"

"When I am not?" I answer while reaching for a folder inside my backpack. I offered it to him, and he took it after a few more seconds of fixing me with a spiteful stare. "Here."

He sighed while scanning over the equations and their answers, "You make business like a fucking Jew man." He said as he fished his wallet from the pocket of his jeans.

I opened my mouth even as I didn't have any idea what I should respond to that. It didn't matter all that much however, as before I could say anything, we were interrupted by a yelp and the sound of someone hitting against metal coming from a few meters down the hall.

Al's wallet rested forgotten in his hand for a moment as we both turned just in time to see what was happening: a black, athletic girl shoving a thin figure against the lockers, it didn't even take two seconds for me to recognize them as Sophia Hess and Taylor Hebert.

Well, fuck.

"Man," I heard at my side, the voice was bitter, " that monkey sure is violent, what an idiot."

I turned to Al, his smile had turned into a scowl, he didn't even bother to hide it, I keep quiet, I wasn't going to dignify that comment with an answer, but he took that as agreement, and I didn't correct him.

"I talked to Brian about taking her down, but he says it's more problem than is worth, and even if it wasn't, she has that fixation with the heeb, so it isn't really our problem unless she starts bothering real Americans." The smirk on his face couldn't have been wider as he said that, and I felt a tug in my stomach even as he fished a ten from his wallet and delivered it to me as if nothing had happened

"Sure dude," I said, maintaining my tone light even as I accepted the payment.

I observed how Taylor tried and failed to get out of between Sophia and the lockers, just to get punched in the gut, causing her to drop her notebooks to the floor. I clenched my fists when I heard the snickering all around, but I didn't step in to help her.

Sophia said something that I didn't manage to hear, but judging by the expression on Taylor's face, I was willing to bet it wasn't a kind commentary. Sophia then left Taylor there and walked away. After taking a few seconds to gather her breath, she then crouched to pick up her belongings as quickly as she could, and gave all of the people nearby a defiant stare before walking away swiftly, I included.

I felt bad for her, I wanted to help, but I couldn't, and it was killing me. That Taylor, willing to plant face to Sophia Hess, with her pride and sheer force of spirit, the one that still assisted to the music optative with her mother's flute… that Taylor was never going to trigger, and I knew that Skitter was of too much importance to not have her as an asset, so I had to wait until she was broken to do anything, to see if I could somehow pick up the pieces and put them together again, and meanwhile, I had to see her being shattered.

It's necessary, we need her.

I sighed, then I checked Al in the shoulder, and motioned for him to follow me as I went inside Quinlan's class. trying to get those thoughts away from the front of my mind, they weren't productive, and they certainly wouldn't help save humanity from certain extinction or whatever. He went in after me without any more fuss, which I was grateful for, because I was sure I would have punched him in the face if he had said even one more word.

He was my friend, of course, but that didn't mean he wasn't a racist piece of shit, it only meant that I couldn't blame him completely for it; he was scrawny, somehow on the short side, and in all honesty, not all that much to look at. The only way he wouldn't end up being another victim here at Winslow was if he got an in with someone in the right crow, which in a place as shity as a public High school in Brockton Bay, was, of course, the junior division of the local Nazis.

Not that I was one, but I was "Arian looking" enough that many people thought that, and I had come to an understanding of sorts with Brian, the cabecilla of the local E88 faction. Al had approached me at first thinking I was some kind of big shoot but had learned quickly enough that I mostly kept apart from things, now he stayed because everyone left me alone most of the time, and because of my striking personality, of course.

I took a seat somewhere in the middle of the room and looked towards the door just in time to see an angry, balding man entering and slamming the door shut. As I predicted, Mr. Quinlan was in a terrible mood, and he demanded that we handed our assignments as soon as we entered the classroom, to the dismay of half the students and the smug satisfaction of Al. After that, the class itself wasn't that different from normal: He scribbled some equations on the board behind his desk, told us to solve them, and then sat on his chair with his eyes closed for the next thirty minutes. He dismissed the class early and left with our works under the arm, saying he would count them as an important part of the term's evaluation.

"Man, I swear I have no idea of how do you manage to always know these things." I heard Al telling me as we walked out of the classrom.

"I have my sources," I said, this time going for a smirk. The whole thing with Taylor had left me a sour taste, but the good thing about having my facial expressions on manual all the time was that I didn't have to put all that much effort in hiding my displeasure.

He smiled, "C'mon, dude!, I won't tell anyone, but the intrigue is killing me!" He crashed playfully against my shoulder as I laughed.

I looked at the ceiling of the hall and pretend to consider telling him. The truth is that I had already decided what to do.

I smiled and shrugged, then looked at him, "It's not that interesting you know. You'll probably be disappointed." I said, but he just kept nudging me, so I continued. "Ugh, fine. I pay ten bucks to the janitor every week to tell me what the professors talk about when they are on the teacher's lounge, then is just a matter of thinking how the teachers are gonna take their shit out on us, and selling what I know for profit." Just like that, the smile fell from his face.

"That's it?," He sighed, "You know what? you were right, I'm so disappointed."

I smiled when he dropped the topic altogether, for all that I appreciated the guy, I could not risk telling him the truth, after all, if he discovered that I was a cape, he wouldn't understand why I hadn't joined the Empire.

It wasn't even a complete lie, I actually paid the janitor, but he wasn't the source of all my knowledge, just the cover in case someone decided to investigate why I always seemed so well informed.

"By the way, weren't you heading to the park?" I asked.

He blanched and looked at me with wide eyes before running down the hallway, heading for the stairs.

The rest of the day passed without anything worthy of notice, Al and my other friends had already left when the last bell rang. I slowed my step on the way out, falling behind the crow discretely and quickly climbed the stairs to the third floor once again, then I put a hand over Taylor's locker, trying and failing not to notice the hurtful inscriptions on the metallic door -Piece of shit; Cheap whore; fucking useless; Worm...

Ignore it.

I looked away and activated my power, trying to maintain in the front of my mind why I allowed all this.

Good.

Immediately, an immense, wild stream of information and pain began to cross my brain: dates, names, actions, all in complete and utter chaos. I closed my eyes and steadied my breath, feeling the beginnings of my headache receding.

Steel, compartment (Locker/Cenotaph): Touched by Damian Hofstadter (AS[archive]-Host): Investigation; Touched by Andrew Peterson (NS-Janitor): Cleaning; Touched by Stephanie Backer(IS-Student): Incident; Opened by Taylor Hebert (IS- Subject of interest): Extraction of items…

I cut the flow before it began to feed me useless information and centered in the data of the next day, carefully looking for anything that seemed important. Usually, my power provided information of the past days as well as the following ones, with less and less accuracy the longer they were separated from the present, but a week was narrow enough to obtain a reliable reading and avoid pushing my limits.

… Profaned by Sophia Hess (AS[Phaser]-Bitch): Grave robbing…

That made me pause. I ignored the rest of the data and focused.

…Grave robbing, stolen object(s): wood, Instrument, (Flute/memento of Annette Rose Hebert [NS-Deceased])…

It's in two days, then. I took my hand away from the locker and immediately was stripped of all the information, as if suddenly a valve had been closed, cutting the flux of water.

Ignore it, it's necessary.

I stumbled a little but didn't fell to the ground, which was an improvement, but not really noteworthy in any case. I looked again at the hurtful words carved in the frame and felt my stomach revolt I knew that it was a bad idea, I knew that it would probably come back to bite me in the ass, but maybe, just this once, I could do something for her without fear of the consequences of doing the right thing?...

We cannot intervene. Ignore it.

What's the worst that could happen?

…Fool.

Just ignore them, Taylor, you're better than that. I thought to myself as I climbed the stairs to the third floor, going to my locker, not yet five minutes had passed after the end of Mrs. Knott's homeroom class and already they were out for blood.

One of the girls in the corridor slammed against me as she passed by my side, making me stumble, and then whispered some insult or another to my ear before continuing on her merry way. I glared at her back, took a deep breath, straightened my red hoodie, and then kept walking, letting the anger inside me slowly stop seething, knowing that lashing out would do nothing good for me. As always.

I took comfort in the fact that at least it wasn't usual for other people to physically target me when the trio wasn't around for them to get the recognition. That didn't mean it wasn't humiliating, or infuriating, o that I didn't feel the desire to punch her in the face repeatedly. But it meant I could at least get some reprieve from it.

And considering how nobody seemed to care, no matter how nasty or evident it was what they had done to me, a moment to gather my strength was the best I could hope for. I mean, if going to the Principal's office covered in rancid potatoes wasn't enough to make the administration do something, I couldn't let myself hope that something would change any time soon.

But I just had to keep strong, keep going forward. At the end, the bullying wouldn't matter, none of it would matter. Even if Emma had betrayed me, even if the Principal preferred the popular girls and the track star to the insignificant Taylor Hebert, High School wouldn't last forever, and in the meantime, I had my flute, mom's flute, and that would make things okay, at least for today, and then again tomorrow, for as long as I needed, because even if no one else gave a shit about me, Mom got my back.

Feeling a renewed smile on my face, I opened my locker and extended my hand to brush the wooden instrument with the tips of my fingers. There was still another period until music class, but even the feel of it between my fingers would be enough to calm me down.

I felt something inside me crack when I only meet empty air.

"Give it back," I said, and my voice came out as a dragged whisper.

Emma turned towards me.

"Give what back?" She said, and, to my surprise, she genuinely seemed to have no idea what I was talking about. Even if her bitchy tone masked it pretty well, I knew her well enough to notice when she was lying. I didn't let that fuzzed me, though, if it hadn't been her, then it had been Sophia. Of that at least I was sure.

I took a deep, controlled breath before speaking, thinking long and tender about what I was going to say next. "You guys broke into my locker. You took my flute. It's something my mom left me, something she used, that my dad gave to me so I could remember her. Just…" I trailed off, then continued, "if you've decided you hate me, if I said the wrong thing, or led you to believe something that wasn't true, okay. But don't do that to my mom. She was good to you. Don't disrespect her memory." I was burning with rage inside, and the way my voice came out as a plea almost made me throw up, but I kept looking straight at Emma's eyes.

She meet my gaze with contempt and hate. "If it was so valuable to you, then you shouldn't have brought it," Emma responded coldly.

I didn't answer right away, taken aback by her indifference. "Can you blame me? Since school started, you've been… after me. As if you're trying to make a point or something. Except I don't know what it is."

"The point is that you're a loser."

I grimaced, feeling my eyes moisten with contained tears, the anger completely washed out of me. I simply, couldn't keep it up, "…even if it's just a flute and a memory, maybe I wanted to feel like I had some backup here. I thought you were better than that, screwing with me on that level."

"I guess you're wrong," Emma replied. She let the words sit for a few seconds, then added, "Doesn't look like she's offering you any backup at all."

It took me a moment to process her words, then I met Emma's eyes for a second before staring down at the ground. I mumbled a response. "I think that says a lot more about you than it does about me."

I got home with my eyes sore and a knot in my stomach. I knew Emma wasn't going to return my mom's flute, her expression had said it all. I couldn't help but felt that her treason had achieved a whole new level today, and just to make things worse, now I was going to have to lie to dad about what happened to the flute. I didn't even know if I still wanted to take music class. Would I even want to get a new flute? Most of my interest on the class was just to keep in touch with mom, but without her flute…

I let out a pained my bag, I retrieved one of my textbooks to get my assignments done. I didn't really feel like doing homework, but I had discovered that the mindless task of searching the responses on the book and then writing them down had a calming, or at least relaxing effect over me, even if later that little comfort too would be attacked when the trio stole it from me tomorrow at school.

I introduced my hand on the bag and frowned as my fingers came in contact with a bunch of… bubble wrap?

I touched the package with trembling hands, feeling the object under the plastic layer, the shape and weight were correct. When did Sophia have time to put it in my backpack?, maybe during PE class?, I reflected about that when other, more preoccupying thought crossed my mind, what had she done to it before putting it in there?

It took a moment, but I finally decided that not knowing was worse than just opening the wrap and seeing it.

Carefully, I undid the wrap and took a look at the wooden instrument. At the first glimpse of it, I let loose the breath I did not know I had been holding. The flute was completely okay, and by its side, there was a little note, careful handwriting in black ink.

I overheard Hess and Barnes planning about what to do to your flute. It was disgusting.

I don't want any problems, so please don't try to find who I am, but I suppose you can call me in an emergency.

There was a cell phone number written down under that.

I took my flute and pressed it against my chest. crashing on my bed, I felt tears slide down my cheeks, someone cared, maybe not enough to intervene directly, but at least enough to save one of the last memories of mom I had, and that was something that I had long since forgotten how it felt.

That was my first night of restful sleep in a long time.