We're Like the A-Team
SUMMARY: Bran has always been one of the more well-behaved Stark children, but when he gets tangled up with a vigilante gang led by the dangerous Reed siblings, he finds himself in a world of trouble. Maybe he should've joined student council with that crazy lizard-obsessed president. Modern AU, crackfic.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Holy smokes you guys. Thank you so much for the wonderful reviews and for choosing to follow/favourite this fic. I promise it will start to pick up fairly soon.
Hooray for team member introductions! This is probably the oddest group of people ever, but I think they'd find a way to somehow work together. In this chapter, you might get a sense of future pairings, but that's all I'm going to say on that topic.
DISCLAIMER: Don't own.
"Hi, I'm looking for Jojen Reed. Do you know where he might be?"
The short girl—who was actually quite attractive, noted Bran—perked up at the mention of Jojen. "You can give those papers to me!"
Bran hesitated. "Jojen said I should give them to him." He made sure not to make direct eye contact with the girl, choosing to gaze at the poster covered walls. Looking closer, he realized that each poster advertised a different production that the drama club had put on before.
The girl dismissed Bran's concerns with a wave of her hand. "It'll be fine. I'm Meera, by the way. Jojen's older sister."
Bran shook himself out of his reverie and was about to hand over the forms, but stopped himself. "No, that's okay. I'll just find Jojen and give these to him myself. No use in troubling you."
Meera smiled widely. "You've passed."
"What?" Bran asked, confused. "What did I pass?"
"The test!"
"I'm not following you."
"You don't need to be," Meera shook her head, smiling as if Bran was some particularly entertaining cat who'd just learned to play piano. "You're part of the club now."
"So Jojen doesn't need to see my application?"
"I can tell if you're a good person," Meera placed a hand on Bran's shoulder. He blushed at the sudden contact. "You're a good person and I want you to be part of our club. Come to the tech booth after school. We'll have our first meeting there." She walked off, leaving a very puzzled Bran behind.
"What does me being a good person have to do with being in charge of stage lights?" Bran wondered aloud.
"Excuse me," Bran said to a teacher standing outside the theater. "Is the tech booth in here?"
"It's right up those stairs to your left. Make sure you watch where you're going. It's pretty dark up there."
"Thanks." Bran nodded. Opening a practically hidden door, he precariously made his way up a narrow staircase. The teacher was right. There was no lighting, save for a dim glow that came from the little glow in the dark stars pasted on the walls. Each step creaked slightly and Bran groped for the handrail, only to find that there was none. Finally he reached the nondescript black door with a piece of peeling duct tape that said, "TECH CREW" in block letters that Bran thought looked suspiciously similar to Jon's writing.
"Hello?" Bran asked timidly, knocking on the door. "It's Bran Stark. Meera told me to come by for today's meeting?"
"Greetings, Bran." Jojen Reed said, opening the door. "I'm glad you decided to show up."
"Decided?" Bran took a look around the booth. It was bigger than he'd originally thought. Three other people were occupying the various, mismatched seats. One of them he recognized as Meera.
"Decided," Jojen echoed solemnly. "We do try to take on other members, but they lose interest after they realize how many forms they have to fill out."
"Tech crew is a huge responsibility," Meera informed. "Hi Bran! Glad you could make it. I guess I should introduce you to the rest of the gang?"
Bran nodded absentmindedly. "That'd be nice."
"Everyone," Meera gestured to the rest of the group. "This is Bran. Bran, this is Margaery Tyrell."
A very pretty girl with softly curling brown hair smiled and wiggled her fingers. "It's a pleasure to meet you."
"The only thing more questionable than her loyalty is her sexual orientation," grunted the other boy who was fiddling with a pocket-knife. He was stocky-looking with dark hair and dark eyes, which were trained on Bran.
"And that charming ray of sunshine is Quentyn Martell," Margaery pointed with a manicured finger. "I wouldn't suggest talking to him. He spends more time with his little contraptions than he does with actual people."
"So I'm assuming you're not counting yourself as an 'actual person,'" Quentyn put air quotes around the word. "Then I totally agree with your assessment." He leaned back in his chair—which happened to be the only fold out chair in the booth—and put his hands behind his head.
"And you've already met Jojen, so that's everyone," Meera clapped her hands together, successfully stopping the brewing argument. "Welcome to tech crew!"
"Tech crew?" Quentyn snorted. "That's what you told him?"
"That's what they tell all the newcomers," Margaery shot back. "Genius."
Bran's eyes widened with horror. "What's going on?"
Meera looked apologetic. "You see—"
"Techies? My wonderfully amazing techies?" The teacher that Bran had spoken to earlier popped his head into the room. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything."
"Renly!" Margaery stood up walking over to him, she gave Renly a hug. "I barely saw you during the summer."
"Margaery, it's been so long." Renly gushed, grasping her hands. "I'm so thrilled that you're helping me out again this year. I know that between this and cheerleading, you must be so busy." The room seemed to brighten with Renly's appearance. Even the mismatched chairs didn't seem so glaringly obvious in his man's presence.
"You're a cheerleader?" Bran asked.
Renly turned his gaze onto him. "And you've recruited a freshman? Good for you folks."
"Of course she's a cheerleader," Quentyn groaned. "Did you expect that she only spends time with us?"
"Quentyn Martell," Renly shook his head. "You should be less rude. It'll do wonders for your complexion."
Quentyn blinked. "I'm a mechanic. The last thing I should be caring about is my complexion."
Renly sighed dramatically. "Well it was nice to see you folks. Meera, I'll email you the list of shows that the drama club will be putting on. I hope you'll do a good job of training your new protégé. I'll see you folks later!" He left and Meera shut the door firmly behind him.
"What's Renly Baratheon doing here?"
"He's our teacher sponsor," Jojen explained. "You know him?"
"His brother is best friends with my dad."
"Anyways," Meera continued, exasperated. "We were telling Bran about…you know."
"You know what?" Bran inquired.
"We're not really a tech crew." Quentyn cut Meera off.
"Quentyn," Meera said, her voice bordering on frustrated. "Don't interrupt me and don't spoil it."
"We're like soldiers of fortune." Margaery peered into Bran's eyes. "Except without the fortune. And we're not really soldiers."
"I think vigilante's the word you're looking for," Jojen added.
Meera pulled a rolling cork board out from a corner and whipped the sheet off of it, coughing at the dust. "This is what we do."
Bran stared in shock at the board. It was like something out of a television procedural. Various pictures, linked with red thread, all leading back to a headshot of a good-looking blonde boy. From a single glance, Bran saw a map marked by coloured tacks, blurry photos taken at house parties, and what looked to be crumpled test papers amongst an assortment of other oddities.
"I think I get it." Bran breathed. "So you stalk this guy? You're a fanclub masquerading as a tech crew so nobody will realize the extent of your creepiness?"
Quentyn burst into laughter, falling off his chair. Margaery paused in the middle of her nail-filing. Jojen looked up from his dictionary, one brow raised. Meera's smile faltered.
"We are what you call vigilantes." Meera said, her smile somewhat strained but still bright. "We're keeping tabs on this boy because he poses a threat to us."
"Isn't this Joffrey Baratheon?" Bran touched the edges of the headshot. "This is Renly's nephew. Why is he the focus of this?"
"Joffrey Baratheon," Margaery repeated. "Son of Robert Baratheon and Cersei Baratheon nee Lannister. Seventeen years old and a senior. GPA of 4.0—though we suspect cheating on his part. Plays forward on the soccer team and is team captain."
"Anyone could've figured out that information." Bran pointed out. "Why are you so obsessed with him?"
"Slept with a night light until age thirteen. Speed dial is as follows: Mom, Sandor Clegane, Dad, Grandpa, Uncle Jaime, and Uncle Tyrion. Locker combination is 32, 8, 15. He prefers his sandwiches with the crusts cut off. He is currently attempting to woo Sansa Stark, whom I understand is your very attractive sister." Margaery continued in a scarily monotone voice. "Could you convince her to join cheerleading?"
"How did you find that all out?"
"Margaery," Jojen pointed at the girl, "is in charge of intel. She's our inside contact. As cheerleader, she is privy to a lot of information we wouldn't normally acquire for quite some time."
"So what's the big deal with Joffrey? He's a jerk, but I still don't understand the obsession."
"Last year there was a spike in grade averages," Meera began to explain. "Normally when this happens, teachers assume that everyone is finally realizing how important marks are. However, this was occurring in some of the most surprising individuals."
"Let's just say that Clegane brothers aren't the sharpest tools in the shed," Quentyn said.
"Anyways, as a member of the student council—"
"You're on student council?" Bran asked in shock. "With that girl?"
"So I'm not the only one who hates her," Quentyn rubbed his chin contemplatively. "Good to know."
"Daenerys Targaryen you mean?" Margaery snorted in a rather undignified manner. "She is," she paused for words, "odd."
"There's nothing wrong with Daenerys Targaryen!" Meera defended. "Just because she hung out with the Dothraki doesn't mean she's weird."
"Daenerys Targaryen got banned from a fast food restaurant chain for setting a table on fire because the ice cream machines weren't working. If that's not insane, then I'll take Quentyn to prom next year."
"Hey!" Quentyn shouted, cranking the lever on his chair to make him look taller. "Don't drag me into this."
"Can we please continue informing Bran?" Jojen prompted his older and supposedly more mature peers. He placed the small book he'd been reading into the cup holder of the tartan armchair that definitely looked out of place in a tech booth. For some odd reason, it had wheels.
"Yes of course," Meera nodded. "I'm the vice president of the student council. I do have a lot of duties as the vice president, but Daenerys is quite the independent spirit and prefers it if I don't interfere. Last year I was my grade representative and because I was working closely with a lot of my classmates, I heard a lot of rumours. Apparently, someone was breaking into the school, making copies of exams—math exams in particular— and then selling them to the student body."
"And you suspected Joffrey?" Bran filled in the blanks.
"I had no idea who to expect," Meera confessed. "It was only because I heard he was the one selling them that I started to suspect. I thought it'd be a one-time thing, but it hasn't stopped."
"Haven't the teachers noticed?"
"You would think. But Joffrey is very careful. He sells to a select few and he mixes it up to throw people off. And he makes sure that the people he sells to are being watched. He's employed the Clegane brothers, two of the most terrifying men you'll ever meet."
"And that led to you forming this group?"
"Yes. When I volunteered for tech crew, I realized that if I were to create an official tech crew club, it'd be the perfect cover for what I really wanted to do: stop Joffrey. I got my brother involved and then we started recruiting others, but discreetly and usually without their knowledge."
"So you guys," Bran gestured to the group, "are going to dedicate your school lives and get yourself involved with potentially dangerous people for the sake of putting an end to an underground cheating ring?"
"That's the most eloquent description of our group that I've ever heard," Jojen said. "We should put that on our posters."
"Do people even know what you're trying to do?"
"Everyone thinks we're a tech crew," Quentyn said. "Which we are. But that's just a front."
"We're like the A-Team." Meera grinned widely. "I'm Hannibal because I love seeing a plan come together. Margaery's Faceman because she's suave and smooth-talking and can con information out of just about anyone. Quentyn's our mechanic and in charge of any contraptions we may need to put together so he's B.A. And Jojen's Murdock because he's scarily intelligent in addition to possibly being somewhat crazy."
"I also have a fantastic memory," Jojen added. "Once, I was able to memorize all the cats they photographed in a 365-day calendar."
"It doesn't count if you used cue cards, Jojen." Quentyn sighed.
"So if you're all members of the A-Team," Bran said, "then who does that make me?"
"Jessica Biel." Margaery didn't even look up from her nails.
"We don't talk about the movie, ever." Meera huffed.
"You can be Bruce Wayne," Jojen suggested.
"He's not even part of the A-Team," Bran pointed out.
Meera gasped. "Did you just complain about being called Bruce Wayne?"
"I don't even like Bruce Wayne," Quentyn shrugged.
"Quentyn," mocked Margaery. "You just hate things that everyone else likes because you get a kick out of their anger."
"Margaery," Quentyn tried—and failed—to imitate her voice. "You just like pointing out the obvious because it makes you look a lot smarter than you actually are."
"So you admit that you get off people's anger?"
"Guys!" Meera stood in-between them. "Now is not the time to be fighting. We have to welcome Bran to our group."
"Welcome to our group Bran," Jojen shook his hand solemnly. "I hope you last longer than the last guy."
"We are going to work great together," Margaery smiled almost seductively. It gave Bran shivers.
"Don't get in my way and we'll get along just fine," Quentyn warned.
"I do hope you'll enjoy being part of the tech crew." Meera grasped Bran's hands. "This is going to be a fantastic year with you on board."
Reviews are appreciated!
Next chapter: Thievery Part I.