A/N: A little AU fic because I can't see how this could work out in canon

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Skittery sat alone in the shed, banging on the drumset that dwarfed his tiny frame. The sticks were longer than his little arms as he pounded away. He put on his favorite tapes and banged out melodies. His audience was a row of pictures of his friend called Specs. He loved Specs and his big brown eyes and his wide mouth. He didn't know, then, that it was considered strange for two boys to be in love with each other. He just knew that it was love and that no love could be wrong.

So he kept playing his drums in the tool shed behind the apartment building where everyone lived. The apartment with Bryan and his adopted son, Jack. And David and Sarah with their parents. And Specs with his dad and Dutchy with his moms. Everyone talked to everyone and it was like a big family. Except Skittery felt like he never belonged.

One day, Skittery was banging on his drums, tapping out a rhythm, when the shed door creaked open.

"Wow, you're really good. Can you teach me?"

Specs himself had walked into the shed, blinking his big eyes behind his glasses and stuffing his hands into the pockets of his twill shorts. He rocked back and forth on his bare feet. Skittery gnawed the end of his drumstick. He had never played for an actual person before, let alone had to teach one. He would just play for the cobwebs and rusty rakes and pictures of Specs and now Specs himself.

"How'd you learn to play?" he asked, stepping into the gloom of the shed.

Skittery shrugged. "I put on songs and marked the beat. It kinda soothes me. I don't need to pull David's sister's hair or chew on Jack's G.I. Joe's if I play them."

Specs nodded. "Yeah…but will you teach me?"

Skittery nodded.

For days, the boys toiled in the shed. Specs wasn't very good but Skittery liked watching him play; the way he'd bang on the skins and bite his lip and flop his floppy brown hair.

One day, he suggested that they put on a tape of Skittery playing.

"So I can pretend that I'm good," Specs explained.

He air drummed, not even coming in contact with the skins. That was when the door opened. Skittery turned to see blondie boy Dutchy. He was barefoot like them and giggling into his palm.

Specs stopped fake playing the drums. He turned the boom box off and smiled at Dutchy. Skittery looked from one to the other.

"Silly," Dutchy held his hand out. "You didn't have to learn to play drums. I just wanted to see if you'd do anything to be my best friend."

Specs took his hand and the two walked away, leaving Skittery in a dark tool shed with an empty drum set and torn cobwebs. He slammed the door as they left and let himself be bathed in darkness. Then he snapped his drumsticks in half and kicked in the skins of his drum set, completely ruining it.

For a while, Skittery sat in the dark, curled up like an armadillo and ruminating in his distress. Then the door opened again. Jack stood in the doorway wearing a pair of Batman swim trunks and holding a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle doll in his hand.

"Hey Skits, whacha doing here?" he asked.

He didn't answer, just became more like an armadillo. Jack closed the door and left.

Later, Skittery emerged to find the big almost-family at the pool, splashing about. He saw Specs and Dutchy running around on the grass playing a kind of catch me if you can game.

"Goodness," one of Dutchy's moms, Victoria, said. "How can they be this in love?"

Lydia, his other mom, kissed her cheek. "I think I would have acted the same way if I had met you at their age."

Like Skittery, no one questioned love of any sort in their almost-family.

"Strange," Bryan said. "I always thought that Skittery loved Specs."

Skittery watched the fun, feeling left out. His father was there, probably wondering where his son had gone. A sticky hand tapped on his shoulder.

"You want some?"

Skittery turned to see Jack, grinning cheekily and holding up a slice of watermelon. Juice was smeared all over his face and a black seed stuck to his cheek.

"Sure," Skittery said quietly, taking some of the piece.

The piece was about a fourth of the melon and Jack had barely dented it. They sat on the half-dead grass and took turns taking bites out of it.

"I'm sorry," Jack said after a little while.

He couldn't imagine Jack having anything to be sorry for.

"How come?" Skittery tried to speak through the watermelon.

"'Cause I never gotta hear you play them drums before you smashed them. David said he heard you once when his dad took him out here for swimming lessons. And that you were hell of cool."

"I am?"

Jack nodded. "Yeah. That's why I came out here today so I could hear you but you had squished your drums."

Skittery shifted under the weight of the watermelon. Jack giggled at him.

"You look silly with all that pink on you," he said.

He should really have spoken for himself on that one. Juice had dribbled down his chin and onto his chest, leaving a little pink mark down to the waistband of his swim shorts.

"Thanks," was what he said and Jack giggled again.

--

Years later, the apartment was still home to the almost-family. Dutchy and Specs were considered the perfect couple. Everywhere they went, they held hands, even at school where their love wasn't as readily accepted.

Skittery never touched his drums again, never had them repaired. But he spent his time with Jack who made him stop hair-pulling and doll-chewing as much as the drums had when he was little. Until, one day, Jack disappeared. Skittery looked all over the apartment building but he couldn't find him. He asked David but he hadn't seen him. He asked Bryan who hadn't seen him either. For two days, no one had heard from Jack. Bryan wanted to call the police but he was afraid he'd get taken away from him.

That was when Skittery tried the shed.

Sure enough, Jack was in there.

"Jack!" he said, startled. "Everyone's been looking for you. Bryan wanted to call the cops."

He smiled sheepishly. "Sorry, Skits, but I had to finish."

"Finish?"

Jack stepped aside. "Ta-da!"

Skittery's old drum set that he hadn't touched since he was five—ten years ago—stood erect and fixed. All the skins had been replaced and Jack was twirling new drumsticks around on his long fingers. He handed them to him.

"You never played for me."

Skittery sat behind the set, now too tall to have to stand and play. He nibbled on the end, not sure if he remembered how. But the second the tip came in contact with the little snare, he felt the beat. He made it pulse as he played for Jack who stared at him baldly, though riveted. When he finished, he couldn't help it, he rose and threw his arms around Jack. Then, remembering himself, he pulled back.

"Thanks."

"David was right," Jack said. "You are a hell of cool drummer."

Jack then put his hands on Skittery's shoulders and kissed him lightly. He tasted like watermelon gum and it reminded him of the day they spent on the grass with the huge slice of the fruit.

"And you're a hell of good kisser too," he said with a smile.