Old Summary:
Band of Brothers- Modern AU, HighSchoolAU
Carwood Lipton/Ronald Speirs, Dick Winters/Lewis Nixon, Eugene Roe/Babe Heffron, Skip Muck/Donald Malarkey, Harry Welsh/Kitty [Maybe background!Liebgott/Webster, and Perconte/Guarnere if you want, and also... no, wait... that's it.]
Storyline/sum up: Speirs is the friendless nerd with all sorts of rumors surrounding him, Lipton is the English master but shit all at anything else, Winters and Nixon formed a group of idiots in year two, and Eugene eyefucks Heffron in the time he gets free from minding the hectic lifestyle while 'Nixters' are in their fancy-ass spec math and English lit classes. Muck, malarkey, an Luz may have a criminal record, Harry is pining after Kitty; the rich girl down the road- and encountered trouble when playing out their first conversation to make sure his witty quips worked... By believing that it actually happened... And then getting really sad because they never talked again. Edward is a kind-of acquaintance to Speirs, as he helps train horses at Ron's uncle's farm (where Ron rides as frequently as he watches Doctor Who), Bull Randleman is a gentle giant who does nothing but observe and give what help he can. Perconte and Guarnere [how the fuck is that guy's name spelt?] don't do much of anything but be annoying at times, and obnoxious at others. Life was just scraping the bottom of the 'normal' barrel when Senior year begins, and then Lip decides to reply to the mysterious note that appeared in his locker.
A silent, stoic, smart boy sat alone during lunch, walked home five days of the week, had homework and assignments handed in on time or pre-due where possible. He cross references in said assignments where possible, which was at all times… and was still raking in the highest scores of the classes. Either his teacher understood the reference and decided it was clever, or he had actually written a good piece of alternate universe fanfiction... It was never said.
He'd spend free time as a solitary speck of dust on the horizon of all other life forms, no sight to behold, be it parents or peers. Running until his legs made the call and carried him home; visiting his uncle's ranch over the hill his house backed onto; reading in his favorite tree.
Eating whatever he had made at five thirty in the morning in a busy yard, waiting for everything to move around him so he could go to the next class. He didn't even people-watch to pass the time. Instead, he planned the remainder of his day: what he would do in the afternoon, how he could get all his work done and whatever percentage of assignments completed in the constraints of his curfew and self-enforced bedtime. Life was a chaos, and a downright pain in the ass, and Ronald Speirs needed it orderly for any sense to come out of it. Nothing rash, brash, sidewinding, or any of the sorts that would blow his ship off its properly lain path. He was never late, nor was he early- he arrived precisely when he meant to.
However, Ronald Speirs was not a wizard.
This sliver of a control complex had nothing to do with problems surrounding the so-called upmost-of-importance 'friend making' 'business'; for one reason or another, he simply could not get along with other children. It's as if Ron was alienated for reasons of which he wasn't sophisticated enough to comprehend: he came from an all-American home, raised with the freedom to choose atheism over religion, finance enough for a secure future. Not a handicap or disability in his life. Allergies, heart conditions, and shortsightedness thankfully skipped Speirs' generation. With the brains and the 'brawn' and the refined, smooth speech of a mature man, one would think that he would be at least somewhat desired for as a friend or boyfriend.
No one listened to him, anyway. He rarely spoke.
Hell, the only people who have heard him talk more than a few uttered words were his parents, close family, teachers, and the kindly lunch lady who snuck an extra juice box in exchange for a vending machine order.
Just because he was friendless didn't mean he wasn't friendly. Or impolite. Or angsty, or overly violent, or mentally unstable, or homeless, or a sex addicts, or homicidal, or anything else of rumor that happened to enter the gossiping carousel of destruction; accumulated throughout his primary and early high school education. No, he didn't strangle a kid with his Smiggle multi-zip pencil case after offering him a hand with picking dropped books up. He didn't own a gun, nor did he have the patience to wait for someone to die of lack of oxygen. No, his father didn't beat him, nor his mother; who was not a crack head or alcoholic. He didn't have overachieving sibling that drove him into a blinding jealousy. He was an only child.
His family was perfectly normal, thank you.
Such rumors were stories that Speirs laughed at. Stories so untrue they were beyond that point of embarrassment and life-ruin, and he found it quiet enjoyable to hear the theories of his childhood, of his extracurricular activities.
The truth was simple: he took greater pleasure in running alone, going to the gym without gaggling peers, and swimming at the beach. School track clubs, football, netball, cheerleading, and the like were overrated in Speirs' view. All the letterman jackets, short skirts, jocks versus nerds... He wasn't classified under a banner- strong as an ox, despite his lithe build, stronger than a majority of the recognized athletes. And yet, he knew his way around the Starship Enterprise twice over and had extensive knowledge of the wibbly-wobbly timeline of a certain traveling man from Gallifrey. He perked up at the growling engine of a sixty-seven Chevy Impala, belonging to his Phys-Ed teacher Sobel, roaring down the street. He had watched enough Sherlock to feel as if he too could tell a pilot from his left thumb. He shouted 'Expelliarmus!' whilst drowning bugs in Mortein. When he got to the turnaround atop the neighborhood hill, he screamed his pick of 'Allonsy!' or 'Geronimo!' to the world before pelting at top speed back down the three miles he took up.
The reality was that no one had bothered to get close enough to realize such things- and he didn't go out searching for friends. They would come to him, time permitting. Well, that was how he used to think. This year may be the time for him to reach out, for once. As much as he refused to admit it, the prospect of loneliness for another full school year kept him up on the last few nights of holiday. There had to be people out there like him, looking for someone who operated in his style.
There had to be.
And finally, in the first term of twenty-thirteen, they appeared. It was the first time he laid eyes on one Carwood Lipton.
A/N;
I've got another chapter ready to go up soon- I really like this idea and am certain to continue; hopefully you like it too