Sorry it took longer than usual. I have been feeling under the weather recently and it's not showing any signs of going away. x.x So updates will probably continue to be slower. I listened to Behind Blue Eyes while writing. Also a scene in this one was partially inspired by a piece of art by arrival-layne over on tumblr. I hope you enjoy!

When Steve walks into school the next day people are snickering and whispering, but it feels like it is more than normal. And their eyes, there is a sort of devious light there. It sets him on edge. Unfortunately he doesn't have to walk far to understand what the spectacle is for them. Soon he is met with a sight that fills him with white hot shame. He ducks his head, keep his eyes down, tries not to see it, but he already knows what it says. The orange spray paint on Eli's locker is burned into his brain. Fag. He grimaces and swallows hard. He feels sick to his stomach, his mouth watery. It's his doing. He knows it. There were probably other things written there too, but he refuses to even glance that way. He's too much of a coward. And to think, Eli must go there over and over all day.

He keeps his head low as he enters the classroom. He doesn't know why. It's not like anyone is looking to single him out. Then again, maybe they are. They might call on him to make some snide comment toward poor Eli and he, being the wretch that he is, would do it too. He knows it as much as he knows that it would make his own heart ache.

Unfortunately on the way he glimpses Eli's face and flinches, a pang hitting him in the heart. Eli's eyes are still vaguely red veined – probably from crying – and that only makes Steve feel worse. He stops and lingers by Eli's desk, opening and closing his mouth around empty words, before ultimately coming up empty handed and moving on. Because of course he wouldn't be able to say anything. Besides, if he stays too long then everyone in the class will wonder what is going on. He can't have that. So he keeps moving, all the way to his seat.

He doesn't look at Eli again for the rest of the period, or at least he tries his hardest not to. He clenches and unclenches his fists, focusing on how the veins bulge, plays games on his phone, and then he even starts listening to what is being taught in class. Truly pathetic. But he was never good at tunnel vision when he wanted it. So halfway through class the spitballs being shot across the room become impossible to ignore. Shot at Eli. It's nothing new, nothing he himself hasn't done in the past, but today it is being done with a much higher frequency. And today it is all his fault.

He cringes and grimaces against the bullying. Yet he does nothing. Not in first, second, or third. He simply shies away as the cruelty escalates. By lunch it reaches a new level. Steve spies the boys from the corner of his eye. While they were lurking from afar all day long, now they decide to make their way closer. It causes Steve's skin to crawl and he grits his teeth.

They lean on Eli's table and tower over him. Steve wishes he knew what they were saying. Actually, no he doesn't, because whatever it is makes Eli's expression tremble and causes a malicious glee to light up their faces. A fire lights in Steve. He wants so badly to do something. To end this. But he knows better. He can't. Especially since he started it. When you start a rumor, or in this case a truth, telling people off for rubbing a victim's nose in it is a cardinal offense. That's common knowledge. Worse still, they are from very, very different social circles.

Steve sneers and looks away from Eli and the horrors befalling him. If he doesn't look maybe it will be as if it isn't happening at all. How childish. His mind chides him. As he shifts his gaze he notices coach, sees his curious eyes on him.

Coach frowns and his brows knit together. He is supposed to be keeping watch over everyone, making sure no one is too rowdy, and more or less he is, but there is no denying it, he has developed quite the paternal instinct toward the boy. He picks up on the slightest shifts in emotion and he hates to admit it but any negative changes jar him out of his groove, just like now. He can scarcely focus on making his rounds of the lunchroom when Steve is so clearly distressed over something. His eyes flicker to Eli. He has a good guess as to what. His face creases. But those boys would hardly stand a chance against Steve. They aren't particularly big. Compared to Pepperjack, sure, but Steve could knock them flat if he so desired. And surely he does want it. His gaze returns to his sort of son. He can see it in his face.

Steve scowls and looks pointedly away, anywhere so that coach can't look him in the eye – read his expression. He hates when coach tries to do that. It's unsettling to say the least. He has enough to worry about already, feels rotten enough, the last thing he needs is to add coach and his stupid mind reading ability to the mix. He'll get through this just fine on his own thank you very much. Adults don't help with stuff like this. They just don't.

He continues to pretend not to see any of it through the rest of the day. At first the boys yell across the room, but the teacher soon puts an end to that, and by the very next class they've taken seats as close as they can to Eli in order to whisper slurs. Steve gets sicker and sicker with himself every period as he does nothing. How can he sit here and do nothing? It builds and builds until the final bell tolls and he bursts from the class. He makes it outside, just barely, before he explodes. He smashes his fist against the brick wall. He chokes on a yelp and clutches at his hand, the pain vibrating out through his whole body and nearly causing his knees to buckle. He spits out every curse word that he knows.

When the pain finally shows signs of ebbing he peers down at his hand and sees skin scraped off his knuckles and blood dripping through his fingers. He grimaces, but it is not an unfamiliar sight. It is just one he has become unaccustomed to as of late. One he definitely can't go home with. He returns to the entrance of the school and tugs on the door, but it doesn't budge. Son of a- He nearly hits just like he did the wall. Like that would help though. So he just storms off.

But without a way to get bandages he needs to stop the bleeding, so he presses his hand into his armpit against the shirt. He hisses at the pain. Yeah, when his mother goes to wash it a week later she'll notice and panic, maybe even have a full blown panic attack, so he'll probably throw this shirt away completely, but wiping as much of this blood off here and now is better than walking home and risking her or coach seeing. He'll hopefully beat them both home. Speaking of which, he needs to book it.

He wastes no time getting to his Vespa and hopping on. Only when he goes to grip the gas a crippling pain shoots through his hand. He gasps and releases it. No. He tries again. The pain causes him to double over. No way. No way is this happening. He rears back and kicks the vehicle. Because that's the solution, he chides himself a second after. He's never going to beat coach home now. He shoots off a strong of curses in his head as he starts the long walk home. He presses his lips into a thin line. Worse – he'll have to endure being driven to school by coach tomorrow too. Ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous.

It's way later than usual when he finally wanders through the door and it's no surprise to find coach waiting there on the couch. He had mentally prepared himself for that. But the best way to handle this is to act as if coach isn't even there. So he keeps on walking, his eyes trained forward.

"How are you doing?" Coach says out of nowhere. He knows better than to comment on the fact that Steve is late. That will set Steve on defensive from the start.

Steve pauses and sneers at himself for the moment of weakness. "Fine. Of course I am," he scoffs. "So I'm going to my room." He keeps walking.

"Then why are you holding your hand like that?" He raises a brow.

Steve grinds his teeth and shoves his hand down, but he is careful to keep it hidden in front of him. "I'm not holding it in any way."

Coach makes a soft sound of acknowledgement. "Then you won't mind me looking." He holds out a hand.

Steve tenses and turns hard on his heel. "Butt out, coach." He sears coach with his eyes.

Coach sighs, his expression worn. "I only want to help. You know that, right?" He can't help but notice the red on Steve's knuckles.

Steve glares for a long moment, but his gaze slowly loses its intensity. And he relaxes his hands. He takes tiny steps toward the couch and sits next to coach, but he tilts his body away from the man. He can't be sure if it is out of habit or because he is continuing to be petty. From the way he tucks his hands between his legs he'd lean toward the former.

Coach frowns as he watches the boy. "Can I see it?" He doesn't even hold his hands out. He just waits.

Steve hesitates. Such hesitation would have gotten him threatened not long ago. Then again, he would have never been asked to do anything before either. It lifts a certain weight from his shoulders and gives him the strength to draw out his hand and show it to coach.

Coach tempers his reaction, only a flash of worry gets by on his face. If he shows too much shock then Steve won't be as likely to tell him about something like this next time. He gently takes Steve's hand in his and looks it over. He doesn't like the blood or torn skin, but there isn't any bruising on his knuckles. That's far more important. He moves on to rotating Steve's wrist. No reaction. He bends Steve's fingers one at a time.

Steve curls his fingers away from coach each time he reaches for one, but he tries to act as if it isn't painful at all.

"Well, it looks alright. All things considered." He isn't exactly sure what Steve hit, not yet, but he's sure enough to know he should have broken his knuckles. He stands. "It needs to be treated though. I'll be right back, alright? So please wait." He hurries off to the kitchen.

Steve won't lie. His first thought was to dart to his room. But then coach said please. He isn't sure someone has said that to him in his whole life. Especially not in this house. His shoulders slump and he sighs, all his energy to move going with it.

Coach is more than a little surprised when he returns to find Steve right where he left him. A smile lights his face. He sits down and sets the bowl of water between his knees. He takes Steve's hand and dips it into the water.

Steve gasps and flinches and he has to actively work not to pull his hand away.

"Sorry, kid. But I've got to make sure it's clean." He goes over it for a minute and when he draws Steve's hand out it is no longer red with blood. He then sets to applying a knuckle bandage to each one. "Want to tell me what you punched?"

Steve huffs. "A wall. Brick."

Coach raises a brow. "Any reason?"

Steve shrugs. "I was mad. Didn't want to be mad anymore. Can't hit people to feel better anymore. So I hit the wall."

Coach shakes his head. What a rabbit hole. He could have just said why he was mad. Now he has to ask. "Is it because of Eli?"

Steve goes rigid. "Eli?" he scoffs. "I don't even know Eli. He's a nerd that I'd never associate with."

Coach finishes with Steve's hand and lets him have it back. "There seemed to be something going around today about him. Did you hear anything about it?"

Steve is quick to tuck his hands between his legs again before he clenches his fists. But there is no way to hide the disgust that flashes across his face. "It's all my fault," his voice is barely a whisper.

Coach watches him carefully. He doesn't dare speak and risk being the reason Steve stops.

"I told them he was gay." Steve averts his eyes. "I mean, I did it in a way that was picking on him, so they couldn't know if it was true, but I guess Eli was so upset that…" he sighs. "So all today they spread it around school."

"That's pretty bad."

"Pretty bad?" Steve sneers. "I'm a horrible human being. But I…I had to. I just…need it." His shoulders slump. "But now Eli, he's-" He presses a palm to his forehead. "I just don't know what to do."

Coach sighs. "You're not horrible, Palchuk." He lays a tentative hand on the boy's shoulder. "You just have a lot of problems you have to work through."

Steve draws his gaze up to meet coach's eyes.

"But you do have to balance it with the things that matter most to you in life. Otherwise you might lose Eli completely."

Steve grimaces. "I know…" Too bad that's easier said than done.

"But hey, if you want a smaller problem to fix, how about instead of punching a wall you punch a pillow next time?" He grins.

Steve stares incredulously at him. "Seriously?"

Coach chuckles and shrugs.

"I'm going to my room now," he deadpans. He walks off. He has a lot to think about. A lot more serious things than how the conversation ended.

"Alright," Coach says to himself. Only tomorrow will tell if his words had any effect.

…

The night is entirely too long yet over in a blink. Steve tortures himself every moment of it and when he gets up in the morning he honestly can't say he has made up his mind. All the what ifs and convincing himself he doesn't need any of their approval has made his resolve feeble at best. Then the second he walks through those doors it all falls apart. Underneath their stares it's another story entirely. It always is. That has always been what has held him back from being open about his friendship with Eli.

Then Steve sees it. Sees them. Eric leans against the locker with a sharp toothed grin as he looms over Eli and the other boy stands in front of Eli making kissy faces. More importantly, he sees Eli's glassy eyes. It reignites his resolves and pumps fire through his veins. He storms toward them. "Cut it out." He shoves the boy in front of Eli.

The boy stumbles and makes a face. "What?"

Steve glares. "Are you deaf? I said knock it off."

Eli dares to peer up at Steve, but he doesn't dare to hope. Still, his heart beats a little faster despite himself. It's not a complete reveal, sure, but it's the most Steve has ever been willing to give.

Eric pushes off the locker. "What do you care?" He sneers.

Steve hesitates for a beat, then speaks with conviction, "Because he's my friend."

The hallway goes dead silent for a long moment. Then Eric utters a single syllable laugh. "Friends? With that nerd? Don't you know what that means?"

Steve sears him with his stare. "Of course I know what that means. Why do you think I kept pretending not to like him?" He shakes his head. "But I don't care anymore. I. Don't. Care."

Eric scoffs. "If you really don't care, then you won't care about not being on the team anymore. Cause that's what'll happen if you're friends with that nerd."

Steve rolls his eyes, but his heart clenches at the thought. "As if you have any control over that. Coach is the only one who says who plays or not and that's all there is to it."

"Oh, right," Eric stretches out each word as he mocks, "run to daddy."

Steve's cheeks burn a deep red. His eyes dart to Eli. Not like it was much of a secret the way coach acted around the school, but Eli was the only one he had explicitly told. "He is not my dad."

"Yeah, okay, sure. Daddy's boy."

Eli sees the spark of fury and eagerness to act in Steve's eyes and grabs at his arm. "Steve, don't," he looks hard at him.

Eric barks out a laugh. "It's even better than I thought. The nerd's got you on a leash."

Steve's lips curl into a snarl. "Stop calling him a nerd. No one calls him that but me. He's my nerd. So if you don't stop saying and doing all these horrible things to him then I'm going to break your face."

Eli's face lights up and his heart soars. If they weren't the center of attention right now he would definitely hug Steve. But Steve is probably mortified enough right now. Honestly Eli can't believe this is real.

Eric cackles. "Your nerd? Keep talking like that and it won't be long before the whole school thinks you're gay too." A malicious smile curls his lips as he gives Steve a meaningful look.

Steve scoffs. "Unlike Eli, I have the ability to break every bone in your body if you aren't careful." He cracks his knuckles. "So back off." He steps toward Eric, towering over him. "Back off of Eli and back off me. And tell all your friends. Or else." He narrows his eyes, daring him to go against him.

Eric growls, but really there's nothing he can do. The best he can manage is to hold his ground until the bell rings.

The bell rings and the crowd disperses. That's the moment Eric and the other boy move along, leaving only Steve and Eli in the hall. Steve starts to walk away, but is stopped by a hand on his wrist. He pauses and peers down, his eyes falling on Eli.

Eli steps forward quickly and wraps his arms around Steve's arm, pressing his face against Steve's arm. Maybe he should have waited until they were far away from school, but he is just so overwhelmed with emotion. "Thank you," he murmurs, his voice wavering. His eyes are watery but for the first time in two days it isn't because he is hurting. "I know it must have been hard."

A smile softens Steve's face. He reaches his other hand up and pats him on the head. "Yeah." But you are worth it. The words dance on his lips, but he could never say it aloud. It's too vulnerable, lets Eli see too much of him. But maybe he'll admit it, one day.

It was fun getting to write coach for a change. I hope he is important in 3 Below. I want him to be an awkward but supportive dad for Steve. Steve needs it. Also it is rude that coach has no first name. 'Coach' is way too close to 'couch'. Please review!