Notes: Post "Taste Test". Ben runs into Victor.

Finally showing the Bowers gang some more attention. Better late than never, right?


"Killing With Kindness"

K


Ben could see it in the way Victor Criss slumped in his chair, head down.

The guy still felt like hell.

For more reasons than just the physical hurts.

Why else would he be cooling his heels at the town library?

He was no bookworm, or half-decent student.

The once-associate of Henry Bowers would have to be feeling out of place here.

Whatever anti-school stigmas the old building was associated with, no one could deny the appeal of its peaceful atmosphere. To the right person, it was a sanctuary from the social chaos outside.

And right now, Criss was one such soul.

Frowning, ever-contemplative, Ben Hanscom lingered in the hallway, hands on his backpack straps. With his work done, he had intended to leave, to be home before dinner. Spotting the back of a familiar golden-blonde head one study room over from his own had stopped him mid stride.

They had not crossed paths since what happened at the creek.

Mostly because the offending party had been hospitalized for almost two weeks.

But here it was, four weeks after the fact, and Criss was at the library.

Alone.

Still.

At the moment, Ben could fathom no better scenario to patch things up in.

Or at least to give it his best try.

Softly, he rapped on the open doorway with his knuckles.

"Victor?"

Criss jumped like he had been caught napping in class.

He twisted around in his seat, saw who it was, and winced.

Ben frowned.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to- "

"Get lost, Hanscom."

And rather than turn back to his still-open books, Criss made to stand, as if he meant to leave. He moved to grab his backpack, straightened up too fast.

Ben felt a twinge of guilt as the older boy cried out, clutched his shoulder. The backpack was dropped before its straps had cleared the floor.

He waited a spell, then stepped closer, pulling the door shut behind him.

"Easy. I just want to talk."

His gentle words were met with a snarl.

"There's nothing to talk about, new kid. I-I don't remember much, but I remember this happening because of you. So scram!"

Ben kept his distance.

He watched as Criss put on a show.

How he retreated around the table as he spoke.

Trying to seem angry, irritated.

When he was really scared.

His eyes were as wide as tea saucers.

Hands resting at his sides, Ben waited.

After perhaps two minutes, Criss relented. Somewhat. He breathed out, shakily, and took another half-step in retreat. His back hit the bookshelves lining the wall.

No where else to go.

The freshman knew better than to get closer, once someone was backed into a corner.

If only he knew there was nothing to run from now...

"I just wanted to say I'm sorry."

Criss didn't say anything at first.

He blinked, mouth unhinging just slightly. His memories of what the attack involved may not have been... complete, but the part involving him driving Ben down the hillside, that had to be clear.

Painfully clear.

"...What?"

"About the other day. I don't know what happened, either, but whatever hurt you, it... had to be because I was there."

Criss closed his mouth, shook his head, locks swaying.

"That... that makes no sense, Hanscom. Both of us were there. What would make you more appealing to a bear than me, besides having more fat on ya?"

"I don't know," Ben shrugged, nonplussed. "Even certain bears have certain tastes. You ever read about them? Polar bears eat seals. Black bears eat berries."

Criss made a sound best described as half scoff, half laugh. He let go of his shoulder, tried to cover a cringe as he folded his arms. "And the one that got me, what was it? A kodiak?"

"You only find those in Alaska."

"Point is, new kid, I don't need your sorries. I'm doing- just fine."

Ben frowned.

Fine.

You've been running on your own ever since.

Studying alone, lunches spent alone.

If that's your idea of 'fine'...

Pushing the matter further wouldn't yield any positive outcomes.

"Well... good. I just wanted to say that, then. Thanks for your time."

Somehow, as he turned his back to open the door, Ben knew he was safe.

That he was in no danger of being set upon.

Here and now.

Or later.

Peace almost-made, he wandered out the library's front double-doors. The sun was just starting its late afternoon fall.

Victor Criss emerged an hour later, backpack at the ready. His right wrist, he had crammed between the strap and his chest, so it would not swing so much at his side. Without Henry and the others, he faced a long ride home.

Stooping, he stopped short of unlocking his bicycle.

Tied to the seat was a single red balloon.

As he stared in disbelief, it slowly rotated his way.

Revealing a smudged sorRy scrawled on its far side.

Written in - what appeared to be - black Sharpie ink.

Below that was a simple, dotted set of eyes and a frowning parenthesis of a mouth.

: (