A/N: I don't even know what I'm doing anymore...

Thanks for the reviews guys: WarinaKinomoto, xxBlueFire920xx, Alex, UnlikelytoBearIt, salsipuedes, MissConfused - sorry, it's late and I'm tired so I can't leave nice long messages, but you guys all rock and I loved every single one of your reviews.

ENJOY!


Chapter 4: To Hurt Them


Push me again, This is the end
Skin against skin, blood and bone
You're all by yourself but you're not alone
You wanted in, now you're here
Driven by hate, consumed by fear
Let the bodies hit the floor

- Drowning Pool, "Bodies"

Otto lay back on the cafeteria table bench. It was lunch time. People around were talking loudly, laughing, arguing, chatting, joking, jovial. He was daydreaming about making the field hockey team. His dreadlocks had pressed around his face, the frizzy tangles itchy against his skin. He was easily recognized by those dreadlocks, and verily admired for them. Other kids commented on how cool they were, how their parents would never let them wear their hair in a similar style. He would just nod, tugging on one lock nervously. He'd had them since he was a kid, they weren't a big deal. His sunglasses pressed against the bridge of his nose, pinching the flesh. He closed his eyes, smelling the noxious fumes of the cafeteria; food and body odor from the large mass of students. He wished he was outside.

Jamal rapped a finger against Otto's forehead, and the boy's eyes snapped open. Jamal was leaning over him curiously, staring down into the other boy's face with slight concern and partial interest. Jamal was a good guy, Otto ascertained. He was from Los Angeles, originally, and the small town flavor of Ocean Shores was suffocating for him. He liked action, adventure, the city style attitude. He wore big clothes and talked loudly, using a whole different type of slang that caught everyone's attention. He was just as flashy as Otto could be, and Otto was attracted to that. They clicked. They were best friends, since they'd met the day Jamal moved in and showed up in Otto's homeroom class. Well, as close to being best friends as Otto would allow. Otto didn't connect with people the way he once had. He didn't let people near enough to him, keeping them arms length distance.

"Yo, whatcha doin', homeboy?" Jamal asked, and Otto rolled off his back into a sitting position. He leaned into a slouch, elbows pressed onto the table, back curled.

"I have to make that team," Otto declared, "I know I'll make it. Of course I'll make it, but I want it now."

"Why?"

"Why what? Why not?" Otto growled softly. Eddie was sitting across from them, eating his home brought sandwich. He made a soft chuckling noise and the other two boys turned to him. He shrugged, biting into the white bread once more.

Eddie, once known as the Prince of the Netherworld, had outgrown the cape and mask sometime in the past when the teasing became too much. He'd devoted himself to sports, and started hanging around Otto a great deal. He was still lanky, thin, awkwardly bowlegged. He had a wide smile, and a crisp, small, pointed nose. His hair was straight, brushed across his scalp, and his face was blanched pale with slight color from the sun. He was wearing a tee-shirt, plain blue, and long blue jeans curled at the cuffs. He talked in a low whisper often times, muttering things to his friends in an offhand manner. He wasn't so much shy as an introvert. He had nothing to say, so he didn't bother wasting anyone's time with useless meanderings. He made most other kids nervous. He made Jamal nervous.

"Didn't you see that team? How cool they all were?" Otto pressed, "I bet they're worshipped by every kid in that school."

"I guess," Jamal muttered, "But you'd probably have to give up street hockey."

"It's lame now, anyways," Otto retorted, "It's baby stuff. Field hockey is an adult sport, totally. And scholarships, man, if I get into college…"

"Huge if," Jamal put in, and Otto scowled, "My bad. Couldn't help myself."

"When I get into college," Otto went on, "My dad won't have to worry about paying for everything. It'll be cool. I'll have my pick of any school…or better, talent scouts usually go to high school games like that, not little junior league street hockey games. I could turn pro by my senior year, no problem-o."

"You seem confident," Eddie remarked, "But I saw some of those other boys out there. The scouts may be more interested in Trent, or even Lars." He paused, swallowing hard. Otto swiveled to lay back down and Jamal looked in confusion between the two. His eyes went wide, suddenly reminded of that morning. They fell silent. The loudness of everyone around them pounding in their ears.

Josh made his way through the crowd, weaving through people and almost sitting on Otto. He'd seen the Rocket boy, but bent down jokingly anyways. He laughed, before climbing over the table to sit next to Eddie, who regarded him with a dark glower. Otto sneered, lifting himself slightly.

Josh was obnoxious, having moved to Ocean Shores a long time before. Back when Maurice was still Twister and Sam was still the Squid. Otto had hated him. And as he sat there, laughing uproariously at his own joke, Otto realized he still hated him. Josh brayed like a donkey, and constantly changed with the trends. He was currently wearing his hair long, spiked with gel. It was bleached at the ends. He had large steel balls beaded around his neck, several plastic bangles wrapped around his wrists, a 'Quiksilver' shirt on, and large jeans that spilled down far enough to reveal his plaid boxers. He looked too clean, too prim and proper to be the skater he was attempting to portray himself as. He had dark circles under his eyes, and was short and thickly thin. He was a person to hang with, to play sports with. That was the only reason Otto tolerated the nuisance. And Jamal liked him.

"Where you been?" Jamal asked, and Josh smirked.

"Talking to ladies," he answered slyly, "But those cheerleaders, at the high school, they were total foxes. Like…Reggie…"

"Shut up," Otto spat. Josh was looking to strike a nerve. He liked to stir up trouble, to get Otto's blood boiling. Not to mention lately he'd been noticing Reggie's subtle changes in appearance. He would come over to the Rocket house more often those days, under the guise of coming to see Otto. Most times he'd show up when he knew Otto wasn't even there. Just to see Reggie, even if it was a moment, annoying her at the door. Josh laughed again.

"Touchy, touchy," he commented. He jerked forward, suddenly, and turned, a few boys passing them by. One had shoved their elbow into his back, between his shoulder blades. The boy's upper lip curled wickedly and Otto felt the hair on his arms stand on end.

"Watch your back, poser," the boy snarled, falling in behind his friends, who laughed. Josh looked to the table in front of him, silently. All evidence of a smile was gone.

"What was that about?" Eddie questioned. Otto's eyes followed the group of boys menacingly. He recognized one, a statuesque blond, by the name of Jordan, the one who'd run into Josh. Two were in Otto's math class, Phil and Marco, both brunetts with light complexions. And then Dylan, with rounded features and a set grin. They were class clowns, loud and rambunctious. Skaters. Potheads.

"They're just being jerks," Otto said, "Forget about 'em." The others nodded, but Josh turned to glance them briefly. The boys were staring him down, joking with one another, and shooting him dark glares.

-0-0-

Sam jogged his way down the steps at the front of the high school as the final bell resounded in his ear. He held in his hand the finished product. A compact disc, burned that afternoon. The fruit of his, Oliver's, Martin's, and Yeni's labor. It would be shown in a couple days for their computer class. They would be graded on it, and it screamed easy "A". Then, their teacher, would ship it off to the Gaming Communities' RPG Making Competition for evaluation and qualification. Sam smiled. He'd never worked harder on anything.

Reggie stood in the distance, leaning against the flag pool chatting with Sherry. Sam paused. Sherry hadn't changed much in appearance over the years. She was shorter than Reggie, her hair had grown out somewhat, still blonde and wavy. It was just below her ears now, spilling in her face every now and then as she laughed or spoke. She had those large eyes, gray. But they weren't a dull granite gray, remarkably more silver than anything. They shined, glistened even, in both sunlight and moonlight. And they were always cheerful, always happy to see Sam. She had a flat stomach, small hips, slight shoulders, and a well rounded chest. Her usual hoop earrings dangled against her pale neck, and there was a mole, right below her left ear. When she was nervous, she would lift her hand up to pull on the earring, and her pinky would come to rest on that mole. Sam had noticed that sometime before, during one of those rare times when her and him were talking alone at the Shore Shack waiting for Reggie to show. She was wearing cut off shorts, down to her knees and frayed at the end, pure white tennis shoes and a large button down shirt, striped red. There was a white tank top underneath

Butterflies fluttered in Sam's stomach, and he felt sick. He always did when he saw Sherry and he was beginning to wonder if there was something wrong with him. He felt more than comfortable around Reggie. Reggie. That was right. He glanced in the other girl's direction. She'd been voted for prom court, and it was obvious why. She was beautiful. Beach bronzed, with strong muscles stretched along her back and smooth legs. Sam knew he would never be voted for Prom court, or homecoming court, or anything. Next to her, he knew, he looked less. He took a deep breath, flickering another look at Sherry, and his heart skipped a beat. He didn't know if he could join them with her standing there. The closer he got to her, the stranger he felt. But Reggie was there, he assured himself, everything would be fine.

Sam stepped forward and was suddenly rammed into. He startled, stumbling and groaning. His shoulder hurt.

"Watch where you're going," Sam cried, without thinking. It was such a forceful blow, almost like being hit by a car. He squeezed his eyes shut, glancing Reggie and Sherry looking his direction.

The tall boy stopped, turning slightly and Sam reeled on him.

"What is your problem? It's not like I'm even moving!" he shouted, then bit his tongue so hard it drew blood. The hair was the first thing he noticed. Orange, not bright orange, just shocking to see. It was a strange thing to notice, yes, but a hat usually covered that redhead. Freckles, and then the chapped lips, flashing teeth beneath, white in a peevish snarl. Sam couldn't bring himself to look in those eyes. Smoke flitted into his face, and he glanced up. Two other boys were there. One that looked withdrawn and amused, and the other one from the high school, a boy named Steve. He was the one blowing the smoke, a cigarette held in his fingers.

"You got a problem?" Steve seethed. Sam lowered his eyes, looking helplessly to the girls, who watched the interaction closely. He shook his head.

"Forget him," a voice muttered, strongly Hispanic. Sam dared to glance up, to study that face he'd known so well before. Those eyes, cold and exacting, once light and happy, looked into the distance, scouring the crowd. Sam noticed how they stopped momentarily in the direction of Reggie and Sherry, before flickering back to the other two boys. "Where the fuck is Mike?" Sam had never gotten used to hearing that boy swear. It sounded surreal, yet, so casual. He turned, slipping away as the three boys broke into whispered mumblings.

Sam all but ran to the girls, taking a deep breath when he reached them. Sherry was studying him, but Reggie was looking elsewhere, towards the direction Sam had come. He didn't know what she was staring at and he didn't dwell on it, his heart pounding from the unexpected interection.

"After this morning," Sherry was saying, "I'm surprised he came back around here."

"What happened this morning?" Sam questioned, looking to Reggie. Her eyes went downcast, she was blushing. Sherry took a deep breath, her eyes widening.

"Oh my god," she squealed, grabbing on to Sam's arm and he flustered, "You didn't hear?" She dragged him away, down the street, before he could say anymore, quickly regaling him with the events of that morning. Reggie trailed back slightly, brushing strands of hair from her face and following unsteadily.

-0-0-

I woke up on Doug-E's leather couch. Music was still playing, Nirvana now. I was laying on my belly, my sweatshirt tangled around my body. I looked out at the room, the multi-colors bright like fresh sunlight against my tired eyes. I could hear Doug-E and Lou in the kitchen, they sounded like they were getting food. My stomach growled, as though suddenly reminded that it needed to eat as well. I pulled myself up, noticing my shoes discarded off the side of the couch. I padded into the kitchen where snacks were spread out. Lou and Doug-E were talking, laughing. I ran my hand over my head. The red hair bristled against my palm, rough.

"Where's my hat?" I asked. Doug-E shrugged, and Lou broke into giggles. I shook my head, grabbing a bag of potato chips, Lays, and stuffed a handful in my mouth. I opened the refrigerator, stocked with sodas, various brands of alcohol, and a jar of pickles shoved in the back. I took a Budweiser, clicking it open and guzzling half the can down before grabbing the pickle jar.

"You drool," Lou commented, and I raised an eyebrow his direction, then wiped the back of my hand over the dribble on my chin. I shrugged again, and the two boys broke into more laughter.

"What time is it?" I asked, popping open the jar and fishing one of the wrinkled green preserved vegetables out. I took a bite, and the strong salty juice flecked from my mouth and sank into my tongue. I made a face, but continued eating it.

"Almost one," Doug-E answered, "Why? You got a hot date?"

"With lilac," Lou threw in, and I frowned, tossing the rest of the pickle in the sink and leaving the jar on the counter. I swallowed more of the beer, tentatively sipping it now. To say it had a taste would be to give it too much credit. It was bitter, and that was about it. I liked it because it was disgusting and made me sick.

"No," I replied, between gritted teeth, "But my fist does…with that little shit's face." Doug-E frowned, leaning back against the counter.

"What are you talking about?"

"We're gonna put the shake down on the little turd that stole Maurice's CDs," Lou explained, and I fidgeted under Doug-E's narrow gaze. He didn't look happy.

"Don't bother trying to feed us bullshit about how we shouldn't go through with it," I told him, and he shifted, jutting his chin out, "It's going down. I'm pounding that guy, there's nothing you can do to change my mind."

"Fine, whatever. Get yourself in trouble. Don't expect me to be there to watch your back, and pull you off the guy when you get in over your head," Doug-E said, and I looked down at the tile.

"I'm not gonna," I spat, "I'm just teaching him a lesson. We better get going, Lou, if we're gonna meet Steve and Mike. Now where the fuck is my hat?"

"I'll find it later," Doug-E muttered, then bitingly, "You guys wouldn't want to be late." I could feel the heat of his stare my direction. He wanted to say more, but for some odd reason, he held his tongue. I ignored it, grabbing my shoes and pulling them on. Lou and I took off out the door.

We made our ways towards the high school, which was a lengthy distance from Doug-E's, finding Steve standing at the corner across from the school smoking. He looked startled in my direction, offering Lou and I cigarettes. Lou took one, slipping it behind his ear.

"You know I don't smoke," I told him evenly and Steve shrugged, shoving the pack back into his pocket.

"I forgot you were such a good little boy," he joked. I flinched, motioning towards the high school and marching forward. They fell in step behind me. "I'm surprised you came back, after this morning…" Steve started, trailing off when I gave him a puzzled look. I'd forgotten about what had happened, but it came back to me in a moment. I remembered the anger, the embarrassment, and strode forward more determinedly because of it.

"Like that would fucking stop me from coming here," I snapped. The crowd was heavy, and I lowered my head, pushing my way through. Lars had no right to treat me that way, I decided. He didn't care about me, he just liked to make my life miserable. He liked to shove me around, in front of his and my friends, and show them he was boss. Enraged, I shoved all of my weight against a short kid in my path. He stumbled away and I kept walking.

"Watch where you're going," he called after me, "What's your problem? It's not like I'm even moving!" I spun on him, and stepped back, realizing I knew the voice. But somehow it sounded foreign to me. Blond hair, black-rimmed glasses. Sam.

Steve came up beside me, taking the cigarette from his mouth and blowing a stream of smoke in Sam's face. He leered forward, trying to appear impressive, but coming off as nothing more than a punk.

"You got a problem?" he demanded, clacking his teeth together. Sam was shaken, obviously, rubbing his shoulder where I'd hit him. He was staring at the ground, shooting looks around at the people surrounding us, bustling by. He fidgeted.

"Forget him," I told Steve, and forced myself to follow suit. I looked about the crowd, trying to remember why I'd come up there. Trying not to look at Sam. I was shaking, and I shoved my hands in my pockets, as they were visibly trembling. I need to act cool, I told myself.

I didn't hate Sam. He hadn't really done anything to me. Things just got complicated, and he simply got thrown in with my old life that I wanted no part of. I guess I sort of saw him as my replacement. He replaced me for Otto and her. Speaking of which…

I could spot her anywhere. She was one of those people that stands out, like a light shined over her head. She was with someone, but I didn't really look to see who. I was in love with her, I reminded myself with an awesome ache in my chest. She was looking in our direction, looking at me. I wanted to return the stare, to hold it, to smile or something. What was I doing there? Why was I at the high school?

Mike. It rang in my ears, the name. I forced my eyes back to Steve and Lou, forced myself to forget her, to forget Sam, and to remember what my purpose for being there was.

"Where the fuck is Mike?" I asked, sounding angrier than I actually was. I was more annoyed, than anything, and just at myself. Everything was getting to me that day. Nothing got to me. But suddenly I was on edge, my hair was standing on end. I couldn't move or breath without feeling as though everything was pressed against me. Like someone was standing on my chest, evenly applying more and more pressure until I couldn't breath any longer.

I noticed Sam was leaving. I didn't want to notice. He was walking towards her and Sherry. It was Sherry standing with her, I realized. They talked, looking my way. They were talking about me, I knew it. You can always tell when someone's talking about you.

"He may be in detention," Steve said, balancing the cigarette from the side of his mouth. I scowled, muttering a "fuck". Lou smiled half-heartedly at me. "It's no big deal," Steve assured me, "Jordan says that Dylan and Ralph are gonna be there."

"Those two are fucking punks. They're fucking wusses," I muttered, "I needed Mike, he fucking let me the fuck down. The fucking…"

"Chill out, Maurice," Lou told me, putting an arm over my shoulders, "Like the Stones said, 'You can't always get what you want, but if you try sometime you just might find, you get what you need.' Dylan and Ralph are wusses, but you got me and Steve. We got your back, loco dude. Those two can just be tanks, man, get their asses beat down in the line of duty protecting us."

"Just don't tell them that, huh?" Steve chuckled, then frowned, holding his cigarette between his teeth and tongue in his mouth, bending slightly. He lifted a shiny disc off the ground, holding it out for Lou and me to see. "What's this?" he asked to no one in particular. I shrugged and Lou glanced over his shoulder.

"Must've belonged to that bug-eyed kid," he guessed and I shrugged again, shoving my hands deeper in my pockets, but keeping my mouth shut. Steve handed it over to Lou, who examined it, before popping it in his CD player and leaving it there, "Maybe I'll check it out later, see if it has any cool tunes on it."

"Not all CDs play music," I pointed out and Steve removed the cigarette from his mouth and bellowed out a thin line of smoke. Lou looked confused. A non-music playing CD, how was that possible? And who would want one?

"Maurice!"

"Shit," I muttered, cringing. Steve snickered, and Lou made a humorous face. I turned slightly, eyeing my girlfriend as she half-ran down the steps to stop in front of us. She put a hand on her hip. She was wearing my Independent sweatshirt. I knew it would turn up somewhere. She'd fixed her make-up. Her lipstick was red, making her mouth look like a bloody gash on her face. She'd changed into a low-cut skirt, my sweatshirt engulfing her body and covering the skirt for the most part, making it look like it was the only thing she was wearing. She'd rolled the sleeves up and I could see a few plastic bangles and a friendship bracelet around her wrists, and a watch with a broken band. She was frowning at me.

"You weren't here this morning. What the fuck happened to meeting me?" she demanded. I saw two other girls come up behind her. Mike's girlfriend and some bitch I didn't like, my girlfriend's best friend. We called her Cheerios. She would laugh, when we did. She didn't get that we wanted her to go. Other kids, from the high school, were staring at us curiously.

"You said meet you at the school, you didn't say when," I shot back. I left out the part that I had decided I didn't want to see her that day. No use making a scene, I figured. She crossed her arms over her chest. Apparently she thought differently.

"That's real fucking nice of you," she spat, "I wait around and you never show up and your excuse is you didn't know what time I wanted you to come."

"Can we talk about this later? I got shit to deal with," I hissed, stepping up towards her.

"I don't care what kind of shit you have to deal with. I want to talk about this now," she snarled, and my jaw stiffened. I saw Lou look away, trying not to appear as though he was paying attention, and Steve covered a snicker. Have I mentioned that I hate him? "After your performance this morning," my girlfriend went on, and a few of the kids around us looked rather intrigued by whatever meaning could be behind that phrase, "And your dick attitude, I'm supposed to wait and deal? You're always fucking ditching me and I'm fucking sick and tired of it!"

"Look, Trix, will you just shut up," I snapped, "I don't need you to bitch at me right now, alright? I got more important things to worry about. Shit." I turned away, shaking my head, and starting towards the street. We had at least fifteen minutes to get to the middle school, it was about five to ten minutes away. I didn't want to miss my window of opportunity, "I don't have time to wait for Mike. Let's go guys."

"Fuck you, Maurice," I heard my girlfriend stammer. She was trying to save face, but she wasn't sure what to say. She could tell I was angry, that I didn't have a lot of patience at that point in time, and that I wasn't taking shit that day. She didn't want to piss me off more, but she couldn't stand there gaping and taking my disregard of her. She didn't press the matter further, as Lou, Steve, and I made our way from the high school.

-0-0-

Josh shouldered his backpack, messing with his bike chain and shuffling slightly. He nodded to Otto and Jamal, who were making their ways over. They'd all decided to head back over to the high school together, to watch the Sharks scrimmage. The bike rack was nearly empty of people. Few kids rode their bikes to school those days. Josh could see Otto was carrying a skateboard, and Jamal only had his legs for transportation. He unlocked his bike, pulling it from the rack and pushing it towards his friends.

"Where's Eddie?" Josh asked of the other two boys. Jamal shrugged.

"He said he had to go home and help his parents at their shop," Otto explained, "Which reminds me, we have to do this real quick, because I have to help my dad out with the dinner rush at the Shack. He needs me there at four, to set up."

"Major bummer, dude," Josh conceded, strutting forward. He couldn't understand how Otto put up with helping out at the Shack. But then, Otto did a lot of things that Josh didn't understand. Like for instance, he refused to give up one sport to focus on another. Otto had too many passions, too many focuses, and sure he was good at all of them, but if Josh was told he could rule at one thing than he would put his whole self into it. But then, Josh had no real passions. Except, perhaps, staying in the popular crowd.

They walked side by side, suddenly feeling the pressure of being alone. Three boys, walking from the bike rack, laughing and joking with one another, talking about this and that. Jamal saw them first, falling silent, and nudging the others to notice. A group of five or so boys standing, leaning on the brick wall of the school, pressed around the three outsiders. They glowered at them, smirks playing on their lips. They knew something the other three boys didn't. Otto persisted forward, and his two friends pressed close to him as though he were a shield or a parent. They fell silent, solemn, hoping that whatever those boys were up to had nothing to do with them.

Otto passed through first, Jamal behind. A boy reached forward, stopping Josh from going further, and he made a slight gasping sound that brought his two friends to a halt. They turned as the other boys closed around. Otto didn't recognize the boy that's outstretched arm held Josh back, but he saw Jordan in the crowd, Dylan, Ralph, and a couple other boys that looked familiar. His hair prickled on his neck. He recognized this setup, though he'd never seen it before. This was a "jump". His heart thudded in his chest. He'd seen fights before, but these kinds, they involved a group pounding on an individual. Otto couldn't stand that.

"Let him go," he seethed and the restrainer glanced over his shoulder to Otto with a sneer.

"Like hell. We got business," the boy replied, "Get lost."

"Business?" Josh ached, "I don't know what you're talking about. I haven't done anything to you…fuck, I don't even know you…"

"I didn't mean me," the boy snapped, "You're business ain't with me, it's with him."

The boys separated at one end, stepping aside, parting like the great sea, and Otto scowled upon seeing the redheaded boy sitting on the pavement. The boy lifted himself, almost wearily, taking the charms dangling at his neck, a shark's tooth and, ironically, a golden cross, and slipping them into his shirt as he strode forward, head down. Otto could see Josh squirming, but the other boy didn't relent his grasp. Josh gulped, licking his lips feverishly, trying to remember when he'd wronged the tall boy advancing on him with even strides.

"I'm sorry," he said immediately, without thinking, his voice a trembling quaver.

"No, you're not," was the short reply, airy, brusque with a pronounced accent, "Let him go, Steve." The boy, the restrainer, Steve, shoved Josh away, relinquishing his hold. Josh stumbled, caught his balance, shied away to find the other boys had enclosed him in with the redhead.

"What the fuck is this about?" Jamal questioned, awed, "Isn't that the boy that…this morning?"

"You're a legend, Maurice," Steve joked, receiving a short, very disgruntled glance. Otto remembered when that boy, who now stalked around Josh as though a lion surveying its prey, would cringe at the mention of his name. Now, a small almost sadistic smirk played on his lips. He paused, straightened, and gave Josh a reproving once over. Josh tried to play it off, tried to appear calm, composed. Trying to act as though the force standing before him did not scare him shitless. He chuckled even, awkwardly, nervous, short gasps almost.

"What…are you going to pound me senseless now?" he attempted to sound unafraid, but that quick apology shadowed by his quivering form and trembling voice, denoted otherwise, "I'm oh-so afraid. Sure, you're all tough with your friends at your back. Man, you're just chicken-shit. I'm shaking in my boxers here, man, I really am. Dude, you couldn't take me without your posse…" The other boy's lip curled up in a menacing sneer.

"It's just you and me, bro," he hissed. Josh lost his footing momentarily, and then he got a gleeful expression on his face.

"Oh," he chuckled, "So you really are stupid enough to try and take me on by yourself."

Their audience held its breath.

Without warning, the boy moved forward fluidly, so gracefully it didn't appear sudden or random, or even an act of anger. With all the force of a bullet exploding from the lip of a gun, his fist connected with Josh's gut. Immediately, Josh collapsed within himself, but the other boy did not lose momentum, grabbing him up by the scruff of his shirt and slamming a fist into his face incessantly. Josh feebly attempted to struggle from the iron grasp, and the boys to the sidelines only offered encouraging chants of "fight, fight", and "get 'em Maurice". Some of the boys held Josh's friends away. Otto struggled against the tight hold of Steve and an offset young man with a lopsided grin. Jamal had less enthusiasm, seemingly entranced by the display of violence before him. It was as though watching a car wreck, the beauty and grotesque-ness of the scene that played in front of his eyes was so horrible he couldn't peel his eyes off it.

Josh broke free of his attacker's grasp, stumbling backwards into the brick wall. Blood had trickled down from his nose and lip, covering his mouth and chin. He wiped at it, tears flooding his eyes as he tried to remain stable and standing. The other boy seemed to relent momentarily. His knuckles were bruised, some were split from connecting on jagged edges like teeth. Not all the blood on his hands were Josh's. And then he moved forward again, his moves more calculated, less like an enraged beast, more thought out. One slammed into Josh's stomach, chest, jaw, over, under, cross-punch, jab, upper cut. Josh returned the attack with a few failed swings of his own. One shaky fist connected across the other boy's cheek, and was received with an onslaught of more passionate, fiery, punches. Finally he bowled into Josh, toppling him over. He pinned Josh to the ground, straddling his chest, knees firmly holding his arms to the pavement. What seemed wild fists slammed again and again into Josh's face, and the young man cried out for help or mercy or anything…until his words became gargled moans of pain. The jeers of the crowd died somewhat, as the on looking boys began to realize, he was going to kill Josh.

And then, in the distance, a blearing howl, like a woman screaming, hummed. It grew closer, and closer. Louder and louder. The boys dispersed, easily identifying the sirens. Someone had called the cops. In the rush, Otto and Jamal tried to struggle through to their friend. Either blinded by some undefined fury, or simply not caring, the antagonist seemed unfazed by the potential threat of arriving police. He continued, almost methodically, in his severe pounding of Josh. It wasn't until arms wrapped about him, and a warm body smelling of marijuana and musty sweat, tugged at him, that he started to awaken from his seeming trance.

"Come on, Maurice," a voice cut harshly into his directed assault, "The 5-oh are coming, we got to go! Come on!"

It was an obvious struggle, to pull himself off Josh, but the boy managed to fight the urge to continue the pounding. He stumbled off with the boy who had long brown hair knotted and stringy with grease. Otto fell to Josh's side, spewing a string of curse words under his breath. He pulled himself up, beginning after the retreating Maurice, when Jamal grabbed a hold of him.

"Let 'em go, man," Jamal whispered, "We got to stay with Josh. He looks real bad. Those guys'll get what's coming to them, but we got to stay with Josh…"

"They're going to fucking pay for this harshness," Otto seethed, "That lame-o asshole is going to fucking pay…"

"Just chill, Otto," Jamal soothed, "Just chill. It's all good." Otto shook his head, tugging stubbornly from Jamal's grasp and falling in a kneel beside Josh. The boy looked like mush, really. His face, neck, hands, arms, and the whole front of his shirt was covered in blood and raw flesh. He looked like a fish, his eyes fluttering open and closed, they were glazed and seemed unfocused. It was amazing he still maintained consciousness after the beating. Otto concluded that he possibly had a concussion. From the unfocused way his eyes looked out. He also assumed Josh harbored a few broken bones, from the twisted way he lay, and that he was probably in shock from the obvious blood loss and undoubtedly immense pain. The sirens grew ever nearer, and they were suddenly basked in red and blue lights.

"What did you do, man, to piss that kid off like that?" Jamal had to ask. Josh shook his head as best he could manage. But Otto just clenched his jaw and balled his fist, frustrated and feeling helpless. In all honesty, he wasn't so concerned with Josh as furious with Maurice. The attack had been vicious, and as far as Otto was concerned, unprovoked. That lame-o, in his opinion, needed to be severely punished, and, in Otto's book, was beyond forgiveness.


END A/N: I hated this chapter. Not because of what happens in it, but because of the writing. I don't think the level of writing quality was up to par...I also hate writing fight scenes. They're SO HARD! But it was a necessary scene to the rest of the story so...I had to do it.

Please excuse any grammatical and typing errors. REVIEWs with lots of nice wonderful feedback of all kinds are very much appreciated, and anticipated, and worshipped like Cool Whip and Chedder Jack Cheeze-its.

Thanks for reading. Rock out, I want sleep and pie.