Warning; alternate universe, supernatural, teen & dramatic! Arthur, bullying, etc.

Disclaimer; if only, ohoho ~

Author's Notes; I feel as if Arthur and Eames are really out of character, and I apologize for that. But this is somewhat going to be their personality throughout. Since they're younger, I made them less "professional", meaning Arthur would bePMSingalot— I mean, get ticked off more often, and Eames would be more flirtatious. I hope I didn't go too out of character, though. And this chapter— it's not my best. I'm having trouble trying to write the entire story, since I already have the middle towards end mapped up in my head. It's just this part to the middle of the fic— asdfghjkl— that's why it seemed rushed and all. I'm trying to slow down and add more ... stuff, though. So bare with me ~ And oh! I'm also writing an oneshot. It should be up in a couple of days! Annnd reviews are loved, dearies ~ c:

For the next few days, Arthur didn't sense or see Eames' presence. Once again, he found himself wondering what happened to the other man, but seeing that even thinking about that jinxed it completely, he left it alone. Besides, he was the one that told the Englishman to be quiet. He seemed to have complied to that, which wasn't a problem by the young teen.

School had been fair as well; he felt easier talking to Ariadne and Dom. Though Lorenzo and Houston still teased him, he began to ignore their playful remarks. Or, at least, it was avoidable until they started briefly touching him. A simple hand on his back, an arm around his shoulders, or a mere bump of their elbows made Arthur cringe. He, of course, threatened them by saying that he would set thier pants on fire if they don't stop their touches. They laughed it off as nothing, though.

For another day, everything seemed alright and back in order. It was only Friday when he received a real shove. He was walking with Ariadne to the student parking lot. She was chatting lively about the last customer at the cafe she had. It was only then that his eyes landed on his car. The once nice appearance of his vehicle was now flaunting the word 'queer'.

He stopped in his tracks, his mouth falling open at the sight of the ketchup and mustard (or, at least, that's what it looked like) that formed the words. Beside him, Ariadne had halted in her words as well to take in the sight.

For a moment, the wind was knocked out of Arthur; his body entirely froze as he stared at his treasured automobile in horror. Who would do something as crude as this? His thought immediately ran to Lorenzo and Houston, but he knew that they had detention today, since they both had complained about it for days.

As he was still recovering from shock, Ariadne shifted towards the car. "Ketchup and mustard," she announced, turning to him with her nose scrunched up. "Who would do something like this?"

The ice broke, and he began to flush.

"I don't know," he gritted out, eyes fiery at the sight of this.

He trembled slightly from the anger that broke free inside of him. It was only because he was out in public, trying not to cast a bad impression, that he didn't start yelling at random pass-byers.

Instead, he paced forward and examined his car closer. Some of the ketchup and mustard were dripping onto his car. It cast an awful smell, but that wasn't worst than the fact that it formed a dreaded word on his window— where he needed to look through to make sure he wasn't hitting anyone.

His fists clenched as his nails dug into his palm. He was shaking from bitter anger. Tears began threatening him, but he fought against them (and luckily, he won). He didn't want to look pathetic in front of those who were watching. That would only make him an easier target with no means of defense.

"Um. I'll go tell the principal, if you want. And grab a few papers towels," came a voice to his right.

Arthur gave a jerky nod and listened to her run off. This left him alone, giving him time to look for any clues that might help him locate the person behind this; it also made him vulnerable to the culprit since he was standing around, trying to make sense of why this happened to him and no other car.

It then dawned down on him; it was Lorenzo's and Houston's fault because of their comments and constant teasing. At that conclusion, his jaw clenched. He was definitely going to murder them right after he murdered whoever committed something as profane as this—

"Here—"

Arthur glanced over at Ariadne, who was holding a few wet paper towels in her hands. She handed a few to him before setting down on wiping the mess from his window.

"The principal said that he'll make sure whoever did this is caught."

He didn't respond to that but nodded, nonetheless, in approval.

It wasn't long until his window was clean. By now, his shaken self had calmed down a few notches. He quickly thanked Ariadne for the help before getting into his vehicle and driving away. The moment he got home, he washed the car via garden hose. Half-way through his task, his mother decided to greet him with a question in which he did not know how to answer without creating a scene of some sort.

"What happened?"

"Dirt." His answer was quipped and obviously a lie, and because of this, he refused to gaze in her direction.

"Dirt?" she repeated. "Oh. Okay. You have mail, by the way. I put it on the counter." With that, she left.

Arthur sighed and finished rinsing the vehicle. As he dismissed himself from the outdoors, he went inside the house and grabbed the letter. There wasn't a return address or a stamp. It was just addressed to him. Quirking a brow, Arthur opened it as he made his way to his bedroom. He pulled out the folded notebook paper as he stepped into the room and dropped his backpack to the floor. Putting the envelope aside, he opened the piece of paper.

It wasn't a letter at all. Instead of something he expected from Fischer, it was a drawn picture of what appeared to be a man's genitals. Underneath it were the words 'you like that, don't you? QUEER'.

He stared at the words, not believing the entire thing— he had been here in this town for less than a month, and at school for just a week. How did they know where he lived? Or which car was his? It was apparent that someone was stalking him, but at the moment, Arthur could really care less about that. All that was on his mind was what was on the note and how ridiculous this whole thing was.

He found himself rereading the words a hundred more times before crumpling the paper up and throwing it at the wall next to the mirror. It was just then did he notice Eames there, staring at him.

"Stop that!" Arthur hissed while desperately trying to fight the tears that welled up in his eyes. "You did this, didn't—"

"Now, now, darling. Don't make assumptions. I don't even know what was on that."

Arthur didn't stand to listen. He turned sharply and slammed the door in order to trap most of the sounds he was making out of his tantrum. With that done, he began pacing around in attempt to calm himself; unfortunately, it just made him quiver more. Therefore, when Eames started speaking again, Arthur was more than furious when telling him to shut up.

"Calm down—"

"This can not— do they know who they're messing with?"

"Arthur—"

"Be quiet! You probably played a part—"

"I'm in a mirror, dear. I won't be able to—"

Arthur halted in his step and glared in the mirror's direction.

"Tell me what happened. If anything, I'm trying to help," Eames stated coolly.

Arthur inhaled and exhaled a couple of times. His eyes closed as he looked down. For a moment, he tried regaining his composure. A few minutes later, he peered back up in Eames' direction.

"My car was vandalized. I'm being harassed— I want to leave—"

"For what reason?"

Arthur glowered for a couple of seconds before uttering his answer.

"Some assholes wrote 'queer' with ketchup and mustard on my car. The letter—"

He cut himself short and exhaled again. He shook the thought away quickly and gave Eames room to interpret. Luckily, the other seemed to have caught on.

"Oh. I ... see. Ignore it. They don't have lives. Don't let words bother you."

Arthur gave a choppy nod, but a second later, he turned against the advice.

"It's on my car. In the mailbox. Imagine what else they would do—"

"Don't assume the worst, pet. Report the incidents. I'm sure it's nothing worth getting worked up about."

Stubbornly, the young teen folded his arms across his chest while throwing the other man a look.

"It's hard to ignore something— whoever did this needs to be disciplined!"

"Listen to me. Ignore it. I've done worst. Be happy that what I use to do isn't as bad as what happened to you."

Arthur wanted to throw something else, preferably a punch, but the thought of breaking his arms over this was stupid, so he settled with a glare.

"What if it gets worse?"

"It won't," soothed Eames. "If you find out who did this, then you should be able to report it. It'll be stopped, mm?"

Arthur didn't trust the last few words, but he already made plans to report whoever did this, or, nevertheless, take the matters into his own hands.

"Breathe, darling."

At the sound of the pet name, Arthur turned his cold look to the man again.

Eames held up both of his hands as if to surrender. "Just trying to help."

He tore his sights away and moved towards his closet.

The other did not utter another word as he proceeded to gather his clothes and towel for another shower. By time he stepped out, refreshed, and having the thought that the harassment that he had to dealt with today was nothing but idiotic (and should be reported, nonetheless), Arthur was feeling much better.

At dinner with both his parental figures, his good feeling started to flicker the moment his mother began the discussion with a question that his father soon became curious with.

"Were you arguing with someone?"

Arthur froze, his fork lingering over the pasta at the sound of the question. He knew that his voice didn't project when he was throwing his tantrum— or at least, not project as much, but he supposed he did raise his voice on some occasions. Did that mean that she heard Eames as well? (Not that that would really matter, since that would trigger her attention and might have the effect of moving.) Eames didn't raise his voice, so that wasn't a possibility.

"Another spat with Fischer Jr.?" His father pitched in.

Arthur nodded slightly.

While his fatherly figure continued to go on and on about Fischer Jr.'s and his dad's relationship, his mother caught his eye. Arthur knew that she suspected something, but he didn't bother to allow her to ask it.

When he was finished with dinner, he stood up and turned the dish into the sink. After informing his parents that he had homework, the young teen returned to his room.

He closed the door behind him and settled on his bed with his Calculus book set aside. Beside him, Eames was, once again, pestering him by watching. At one point, Arthur glanced over and asked him to disappear. He didn't see Eames again until Saturday afternoon when he returned from his visit to the cafe.

Their exchange was brief and quite mature, much to Arthur's liking (somewhat). Eames simply asked how he was, and he replied that he was content before repeating the same question to him. And of course, he received a cheesy response; "Better now, since you're here." A wink followed that.

He ignored the flirtatious gesture and continued his day in an okay manner.

On Monday morning, Arthur was rather hesitant as he moved around his room to get ready. He didn't feel as if he should go to school, but he quickly squashed the fear down; what was the worst that could happen? He doubted that anyone could get away with slashing his tires or something. Holding onto a positive thought, the young teen picked up his backpack and slung it over his shoulder.

Before he stepped out the door, though, Eames' voice caught his attention. "Kick their arses for me, will you, darling?"

Arthur didn't turn back to acknowledge the comment, but he did allow his lips to curve into a small smile at the sound of the advice. For once, Eames actually said something worthwhile.

Still holding onto his confidence, he proceeded to drive to school. After successfully parking and making sure that the vehicle was locked, he advanced onto his given locker.

So far, nothing seemed out of order; Cobb, walking by to his first period, waved at him. Mal called out a greeting when they passed each other, and Houston yanked him back by the back of his shirt (Arthur hated this, because it untucked his shirt; he also loathed it because Houston would mess up his hair as well before laughing and properly greeting him). As he stepped into his first period class, Ariadne waved him over and immediately questioned him about one of the homework questions.

The day went on without a bother, which only made Arthur a bit anxious; he was expecting some sort of horrid thing to happen to his car, which he couldn't keep an eye on due to the fact that the student parking lot wasn't near any of his classes. When the bell for his last class rung, Arthur sprung out of his seat, gathered his items, and ushered out of the room.

As he went to put his Government textbook up, he halted. His entire body simply froze over at the sight of his locker.

In black ink, the word 'GAY' was written vertically on the locker next to his. Underneath the Y was an arrow that pointed to his locker. The mistake the harasser apparently made (he wrote on the wrong locker) would have been humorous and ignored if the arrow wasn't pointed to his own.

Returning to reality, Arthur glanced around. No one looked his way or was laughing. Ariadne was waiting for him outside. Dom was at practice— there wasn't anyone to show this to without being embarrassed first.

His gaze returned to the lockers just in time to see that Tadashi was unlocking the one next to his— the one that was vandalized. Arthur mentally slapped himself for forgetting that the other man had a locker next to his own. Nevertheless, he walked forward and watched the dark-haired male.

"How can you just ignore that?" he asked, his brows furrowing.

The junior managed a feeble shrug as he drew books from his locker.

"I've been bullied since junior high. I just ignore it. Besides, it was pointed to your locker."

The corner of Arthur's mouth twitched, but nonetheless, he minded his own business and opened his locker. After extracting the books needed for homework, he locked up the space and walked towards the school's exit. He was greeted by Ariadne with "you took a long time", but with her smile, he acknowledged the fact that she wasn't angry.

"Just got caught up with something," he responded, making his way to his car. "Someone wrote ... something vulgar on Tadashi's locker and drew an arrow pointing at mine."

Ariadne blinked. "The school cameras should have caught it," she quipped. "I wonder who's doing this."

Arthur nodded slightly; he too was wondering who the hell was behind this.

After bidding the female a farewell, he examined his car. It didn't look ruined in any way. Generally glad about this, he got in and drove home.

On the trip home, he began thinking about the situation; there wasn't a doubt that whoever was doing this was from his school (considering that there was no way for outsiders to get in and know which one was his). Also, whoever did it was close to the parking lot, unless they were skipping class. But surely, there were security cameras around, like Ariadne said? The whole thing must have been seen by someone.

Arthur shook the thoughts out of his head as he parked in front of his house. After passing a greeting to his mother, he ushered into his room.

Eames wasn't present, which made him slightly disappointed since he didn't have someone to complain to. When dawning down on the thought that he actually expected the Englishman's presence, he scoffed and began on his homework.

Just thirty minutes later, he shuffled the items back into his backpack while thinking that the homework was completely easy. It was only then that Eames greeted him.

"Algebra I homework took me two hours once. I gave up in the end. Too much memorization."

Arthur gave a soft snort. "Algebra I was easy," he commented.

Eames tilted his chin up slightly. "I'm not the sharpest crayon in the box, darling."

"Arthur," the young teen corrected.

Eames quirked his brow and responded with "Eames."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "My name is Arthur."

"Is it!" the Englishman exclaimed. "Who would've know? Yes, I'm aware that that is your name, dear."

Arthur's eyes narrowed. "I don't like pet names."

"Such a shame; I adore pet names, especially when I use them on you. Did you know that every time I were to call you 'darling', your mouth would twitch?"

At the mention of that, the corner of his mouth twitched, and Eames broke into a grin.

From that point on, he tried to ignore the other. It was only five minutes later did he find himself replying to the man's question.

"Assuming from your silence and calmness, I'm thinking that they didn't bother you today?"

"They wrote something profane on the locker next to mine and drew an arrow."

The Englishman lifted a brow. "I see. You're not angry?"

Arthur huffed. "I'm dealing with it. It's nothing to get worked up over, like you said."

The last part came in murmur to shield the fact that he had taken Eames' advice, after all. It wasn't intentional; he just found that, yes, it was ridiculous that he was making such a big deal out of someone writing a vulgar word on his windshield with ketchup and mustard. It was better than getting his tires slashed, and that was for sure.

"Good to hear that you're listening."

Arthur ignored the smirk that passed the man's lips and cut the conversation there.

The next day proved to be as fair as the one before, but this time, Arthur was more cautious and observant. Throughout the day, he made a possible list on who it could be. When he voiced his situation at the lunch table, he added another to his list.

"Someone's vandalizing me."

Timothy lifted his head and scoffed. "I'm not surprised. Someone needed to point out the queers."

From that statement onward, Arthur was nearly positive that Timothy was behind it, and if not, then he had something to do with it. He voiced this suspicion to Eames, who couldn't agree more with him.

The next day, Timothy and Cheyenne sat away from the group, which cued Lorenzo's whining (he liked Cheyenne's presence). Arthur didn't find that it was a problem; he was perfectly content with group consisting of himself, Dom, Ariadne, Mal, Tadashi, Lorenzo, and Houston. Though, there was a continuous odd atmosphere that lingered between them during a few times. Mal later informed him that Dom felt slightly uncomfortable. To that, Arthur merely pressed the point that he was straight. It didn't do much, but at least now, Dom was talking more to him.

It wasn't until Thursday that the next bullying action happened. He walked beside Ariadne when he was suddenly shoved into the locker.

"Queer!" A male's voice called out a second later.

Arthur tried to ignore that as well, but anger was beginning to build up inside him. It wasn't because he was hurt— being shoved into the lockers didn't hurt at all; it just took the breath out of him. After answering Ariadne's 'are you alright?' question with a stiff 'fine', he turned his gaze in the direction he saw the boy that shoved him walk in. The face wasn't familiar, but according to Ariadne, it was one of the soccer players.

When he approached the principal with this, the elder man merely said that he would give punishment to whoever did it before shooing him off. For nearly an hour that night, the young teen found himself venting to Eames, who gave him the advice to pay Dom's soccer team a visit during their practice.

That was exactly what he did Friday afternoon, after school.

After telling Ariadne that he was going to pay Dom a visit, he made his way over to the soccer field. The team was lingering about and chatting when he arrived.

He was about to make an announcement of his arrival, but unfortunately, the one that pushed him the previous day caught sight of him first.

"Looky here. Queer's here. To what may I be an assistance to?"

The boy, who was rather attractive, mind you, sauntered forward. When his personal space was invaded, Arthur raised his hands and shoved the other back.

"You're pathetic," he spat, but before he could make a long speech about how idiotic the action was from yesterday, Dom dismissed himself from the crowd.

"Is something wrong?"

Arthur took a look at the blond before turning his glare to the other boy. "This asshole pushed me into the locker," he stated.

"I'm sure you liked having my hands on you."

"Fu—"

"Adrian, Arthur, stop it."

Dom put a hand on the soccer player's shoulder and lightly pushed him back into the crowd of boys.

Adrian grinned. "No, I want to hear what Queer has to say."

Arthur felt like a kid standing there, completely embarrassed, but he didn't allow it to go further.

"Grow up," he hissed.

Dom removed the hand from Adrian's shoulder grabbed Arthur's arm.

The last thing he saw and heard before Dom dragged him away was the male laughing. Now, he was being confronted by the blond male.

"Look, Arthur. I apologize for whatever he did. He didn't mean it—"

"He shoved me against a locker," the dark brunet began to protest.

"Report him— but um, it would be helpful if you don't report him this or next week. He's one of the beat players, and our first game is next Saturday."

Arthur stared while his mind raced with the question 'are you serious?'

In the end, though, he gave in after Dom promised to talk to Adrian about it.

Arthur left the practice field and returned home in a ticked and unsatisfied manner (which Eames obviously made worse).

The next week gradually got worse.

It wasn't the soccer team that gave him trouble, but the calls of 'Gay! Queer!' down the hall that made his day not worth going through. Much to his fortune, though, Ariadne, Mal, and on a few occasions, Dom, helped him out.

On Wednesday, he reported the bullying to the principal (who claimed to already put Adrian and a couple of others in detention) again. After a brief promise to address this to the student body, the elder dismissed him.

Thursday, no order was in play.

Arthur had to catch a ride from Ariadne because someone had apparently spray painted his window, making it impossible to see. It was only then did he tell his parents about what was going on. For the next few minutes, he heard his father yelling into the phone as he sat in his bedroom, Eames constantly pestering him to tell. When he did, the Englishman gave another piece of advice: "Take matters into your own hands. Punch him."

Arthur didn't think he was going to comply, because he knew what the consequences were, but Friday morning called for it.

Timothy yelled out 'faggot!' during the switch between first and second period.

Arthur just turned to Ariadne, told her to hold his backpack before chasing said male. He grabbed Timothy by his hood and shoved him into the wall.

Immediately, everything seemed to freeze; everyone stopped, and moments later, chants of 'fight! fight!' echoed throughout.

Timothy shoved him off, a scowl on his face.

"Stop touching me, cocksucker."

That was it.

Arthur took the first punch and they somehow ended up on the floor before being split apart by a teacher. After being forced to apologize and given three days of suspension, the two were released. His parents, who were called up to discuss the situation, were not impressed at all. Arthur swore he had the longest lecture of his life before he was free to go into his room.

"You're home early. What was your dad yelling about?"

That was his greeting, courtesy of Eames.

Arthur slammed the door close ("watch your temper, Arthur!" his father yelled) and turned his glare to the other.

"I punched him and got three days of suspension."

Eames blinked at him. "Oh ... didn't think you would comply to my advice. Are you ... are you okay?"

Arthur seated himself on the bed and lightly brushed his fingers along his bruised cheek.

"I'm fine. This is not going to look good on my record, though," he murmured.

"Look on the bright side, darling. You get to talk to me—"

Arthur grabbed a pen and hurled it in the mirror's direction.

"Bloody hell! Love you too, Arthur— give me a warning at least!"

After shooting another death glare in the man's direction, Arthur flopped down on the bed and began dwelling on his mistake while blaming it solely on Eames for suggesting it.

This was definitely one of the reasons why he hated public schools.