Disclaimer: I don't own Degrassi.
AN: Check out my Torres Bros oneshot, All Things Ordinary - it started out as chapter 3 of this fic, but the tone wasn't quite right (not nearly tense and soul-crushing enough!) so I pulled it. But I loved it too much to scrap, so I decided to post it as a oneshot. Same story-verse, but it only references (very, very vaguely and only if you squint) parts of the story that haven't even been formally addressed yet, so I don't know. Go read it though. It has Drew and Adam being cute and stuff.
Much love to DarkDefender89 - he consulted on this chapter. I'm cisgender and have all the privileges that come with that. I've never had gender dysphoria and I've never had to deal with any of the shit so many trans people have to face day-in, day out. I've been self-educating on trans-issues for a couple years now and I've spoken with friends and loved ones, but I've still got a long way to go. Kaden read over the dysphoria scene for me because I was freaking out about "oh god what if I got it all wrong and this is totally offensive and ruins everything." He was very nice and patient with me and gave me some suggestions which I think improved the story. However! If any of you take issue with something I've written (and this applies to EVERYTHING I've written/will write) pleasepleaseplease call me out on it. I won't get mad or be a dick. Like I said: I've got a lot to learn and I'm very open to that. Privilege is so insidious, if you don't tell me when to check mine I might not realize it's peeking out.
[Insert Something Witty and Charming about] my betas drevil99 and TwistedRaver [other words] and then they beta'd this chapter and were awesome.
Warnings: TRIGGER WARNING FOR DYSPHORIA AND DISCUSSION OF SELF-HARM AND DEPRESSION.
SAME EXACT NOTE AS LAST TIME BUT READ IT NOW IF YOU DIDN'T THEN BECAUSE SERIOUSLY YOU GUYS IT'S IMPORTANT FOR CONTEXT: This doesn't take place in canon. NOT CANON. Adam is stealth - no one (aside from his family, at this point) knows he's transgender. There are lots of other differences - everyone's backstory is kind of different, as I hope will become obvious through the course of the story (should you continue reading, and I really hope you do). I think that's everything I wanted to cover. If there are any lingering questions, let me know in a review.
Six in the morning held a unique kind of beauty, once you got the sleep out of your eyes and the blood into your legs.
Adam exhaled a puff of white steam and watched as it drifted and evaporated into the cold Toronto air.
He stood, cup of hot coffee in one gloved hand, back pressed into the cold brick wall of the building behind him.
He took a sip, relished the burn on his tongue and watched the world wake up.
The reluctant commuter; sitting in her car, listening to traffic updates and squeezing the wheel too hard because everyone in this city drives like an idiot.
The tired, grizzled minimum wage warriors; bundled up and silent as they stood at the bus stop, ready to work too hard for not enough money.
Shopkeepers opening their businesses all along the street; worrying about breaking even or those loaves of bread that they needed to use today or they'd have to be thrown out.
Smug, awful joggers looking for more teens with skateboards trying to find a moment of damn peace before the world inhaled them; eager to wreck someone else's morning.
Or something.
Adam glowered at the jogger that passed him. The bewildered man looked back over his shoulder and stumbled, nearly taking out a woman walking a golden retriever – the dog yipped and snapped at the man's heels.
Adam smirked and took another long sip of coffee.
Beautiful.
X-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-X
Adam had committed himself to a slow but thorough examination of all the public parks between his house and school.
So far, he'd been to five. Of them, only two are any good for skating, but there's one that's a little out of the way that he thinks he likes best. It's kind of small; lots of trees and bushes but only one playground area; it's small and in ragged condition at that. The swings creek loudly and the monkeybars are rusty. He'd only been to the park twice but both times he was completely alone.
There was still an hour before school and Rusty Park is only two blocks away from Degrassi, so that where he decided to to kill the time.
He liked parks because they were free and always open. He didn't have a job and going to Eli's house usually left him feeling really weird, so if he wanted to have someplace to be that wasn't school or home and wouldn't cost him any money, it pretty much just left parks.
As he approached the playground he noticed a figure on the swingset.
Whoever it was was facing away from him. Head down, legs curled up under the swing.
He hesitated, breathing through his nose and observing them.
Maybe I should skip the park. Go to school. I mean, it's pretty cold. I could probably study.
But I don't want to go hang out at Degrassi for an hour. What if I run into Fitz, or Eli, or Clare. I don't want to have to...
The figure hadn't moved at all.
Adam, bit his lip anxiously.
What if they're hurt?
He glanced around. No one else was in the park.
What if they're an ax murderer?
Well, it didn't look like they had an ax...
If they're hurt and you don't do anything and you read about it in the paper tomorrow you will never feel good ever again.
Adam, sighed, tapping the board nervously against his knee and taking a few steps forward.
"Um, hey?" he called out, voice unsure. "You okay?"
No response.
"Shit," he whispered, jogging forward.
Please, don't stab me, he pleaded silently as he approached, noticing the person tense. From this distance it was obvious that it was either a girl or a really small dude. There were no defining characteristics – they were wrapped up in an over-large hoodie.
"Are you okay?" he asked again slowly. "Um. Êtes-vous d'accord?
He stepped forward, reaching out before snatching his hand back, a growing sense of unease in his stomach."Estás bien?"
"Fuck!" the suddenness and familiarity of the voice startled him.
He took a step back, almost tripping over his own feet.
"I was kind of hoping you'd just go away, you know?" Bianca said as she turned to glare at him.
She looked... tired. Mascara running, nose pink, half-smoked cigarette dangling from between her full lips.
"Oh, great, it's you," she sighed, recognizing him.
Adam bit his lip. "Sorry?"
Wait. Why was he apologizing?
She rolled her eyes and turned back around, kicking off from the ground and swinging violently into the air. "Whatever."
Adam watched her for a while. He wasn't sure if he should leave.
Well, okay, logically he should have gotten the fuck out of there once he realized that it was Bianca and that she wasn't hurt (as far as he could tell).
But something kept him there.
Maybe it was the hunch in her shoulders, or the quiver in her voice, or the look in her eyes like she just needed a nap and someone to tell her something good.
Looking at her like that made his throat ache. She looked... fragile.
She looked the way he felt, half the time.
He wanted to reach out. To take her hands in his and look into her eyes and find himself. He wanted to see himself in her – at least to see something that validated the tenuous connection he felt to her.
He set his board down and hopped onto the swing next to her, trying not grimace at the distressed shriek of the rusty metal.
"Can I bum one of those?" he asked tentatively, nodding to the pack of cigarettes she was fumbling with.
"Yeah, whatever," she mumbled quietly, tossing the pack his way with barely a glance.
Adam grinned, relieved.
Thank God for the smoker's code.
There was a strange sort of honor among those who smoked enough cigarettes to take them seriously. It was unthinkable to deny someone a smoke – be they some stranger off the street or your worst enemy.
Nicotine.
The great equalizer.
Adam lit the cigarette and handed the pack back to her.
"Thanks," he smiled gently.
She glanced at him, nodding.
"Didn't take you for a smoker," she admitted after a moment of silence.
He sat up straighter.
She was talking to him?
Say something back, you idiot!
"Uh," he swallowed. "Why not?"
"I don't know," she shrugged. "You always sort of struck me as a bit of a mama's boy, or something."
He opened his mouth to object but stopped himself short.
She was sort of right.
He shrugged and smiled self-deprecatingly. "Not by choice."
She raised an eyebrow but turned toward him a little, interested.
"My mom's kind of... freakishly over protective," Adam admitted, not sure why he was giving her any ammunition. But she was looking him in the eye now and he was desperate not to lose that connection, even if it came back to bite him in the ass. "Like, um, do you know my brother?"
She nodded slowly, pushing smoke through her nose. "The quarterback, right?"
"Yeah," he took a drag, swinging slowly. "So, then you remember when he got taped to the flagpole?"
She snorted. "Oh my God. Yes. I'm pretty sure everyone remembers that."
Adam smiled painfully.
The whole incident was still awkward.
On one hand, it was Drew getting hazed.
On the other, Drew told him what really went down. He definitely deserved it.
"So, yeah, after that my mom flipped out," Adam continued. "She was down at the school, like, every day until that Riley kid confessed. And, God, it was probably worse at home. She would not leave us alone about who did what and we were, like, on lock down until the whole thing got resolved. Fucking madness."
"Wow," Bianca tilted her head. "Your mom sounds like a total nutjob."
Adam laughed, kicking the ground. "Understatement of the year. But... that's family, y'know?"
She nodded, looking away from him, small smile fading from her face. "I guess."
Silence fell over them once more.
"Stop staring at me like that," she said after a beat, not looking at him.
"I'm sorry," he said sincerely, pushing himself off the swingset and wandering toward the junglegym.
"Is that a Dead Hand shirt?" she asked suddenly.
Adam paused, glancing down at himself. "Oh. Yeah. You like Dead Hand?"
"I love them," she said. "I figured you'd be more into... like, Nickelback or something."
Adam frowned. "Hey!"
"Well, what do you listen to?" She challenged.
"Um, Story of the Year, All Time Low, A Static Lullaby, Underoath," he rattled off.
She snorted. "See?"
"C'mon, they're not freaking Nickelback," he protested. "What do you listen to?"
"I like old hip hop," she said. "And, like, trance and house and dubstep and stuff. Dead Mau5, and Tiesto, and Burial. Ever heard of Salem?"
He frowned shaking his head slowly.
"Check 'em out," she suggested. "They're a total headfuck."
"What's your favorite Dead Hand album?" Adam asked.
"Hmmm... I really like Blue, but I'm gonna have to go with the self-titled one," Bianca said after a moment. "What about you?"
"Definitely the self-titled," Adam grinned. "What's your favorite song."
"'Stay'' she replied without hesitation. "Yours?"
"That's tough. 'Down' I guess," he nodded. "I really dig that part in the middle, when he screams."
She laughed. "I half-expected you to say 'Paisley Jacket.'"
"Hey," he sniffed indignantly. "What's that supposed to mean? That's a good song, too."
"Yeah, it was a good song until the radio played it absolutely to death and all the losers started going to the shows because DH got popular," Bianca rolled her eyes.
"You going to the reunion tour?"
"Are you kidding? Tickets sold out in, like, five minutes."
"Yeah, that was pretty crazy. By the time I had the money together there weren't any left."
"Same here."
Adam opened his mouth to respond, but broke off into a chuckle.
"What's so funny?" Bianca demanded, a touch of nervousness in her voice.
"Nothing, nothing, it's just..." Adam paused, struggling to articulate his feelings. "Doesn't this feel a little surreal?"
"I have no clue what you're talking about," Bianca said slowly.
"You! And me! Having a civil conversation," Adam clarified. "I thought you hated me."
Bianca rolled her eyes. "I never hated you."
Adam frowned, losing his good mood. "What are you talking about? Of course you hated me, you treated me like shit."
"What?" Bianca scowled, defensive. "Just 'cause I didn't fucking come in my pants that time you brought me my notebook?"
"Y-you," Adam sputtered. "You'd never even look my way! Whenever I tried to talk to you, you acted as if I didn't exist."
"You're acting like I somehow owe you something," Bianca pointed out. "It's not my fault you're boring as hell."
"You owe me at least a bit of decency," Adam shouted, all the bitterness and ugly feelings she inspired in him rising to the surface. "You could at least treat me like a – a person. You could have done something when – when Fitz and Owen-"
"So now it's my responsibility to look after you?" Bianca asked. "You're fucking ridiculous. I don't even know you!"
"You could have made them stop," Adam spoke through clenched teeth, body trembling.
"Oh fuck," Bianca rolled her eyes, pushing herself off the swing. "You know what I really hate? Men who act like I owe them something, when I don't. Know what I hate more? Weak little bitches who want me to take care of them"
She took a threatening step forward.
Adam swallowed hard but held his ground.
"You wanna know why I never gave you the time of day?" Bianca sneered. "Because you don't fucking deserve my time. I see the way Dewey treats you. And Fitz and Owen and half the damn school. And you just take it. And then you turn around and blame me for the fact that you're too much of a fucking loser to stick up for yourself. Do me a favor: lose the vag, and come back to see me when you decide to be a real man."
She left.
Adam stood; face white, body trembling.
She doesn't know what she's talking about. There's no way she could have meant it like that. She was just being a bitch.
Still, his eyes were hot and he reached up to press his palm against his chest.
Flat.
He closed his eyes, breathing deeply – for once eager to feel the pressure of the bandages over his spine; the familiar ache of his ribs.
It's flat. Okay. Mostly flat. Hard to notice.
Fuck.
FUCK.
He took another ragged breath and ran his hands over the slight bulge under his shirt.
She didn't touch you. You can't tell from looking at it.
She was just being a bitch. It's okay.
He ran his fingertips along the smooth skin of his jawline.
You're 15. Lots of guys don't have facial hair yet. Lots of guys don't ever really grow any, it's just genetics...
His hand fell to the front of his pants.
Not every guy is hung, y'know? Plus, who the fuck is looking at your crotch anyway? Fuck them.
Still, his heart was pounding in his ears and his stomach was churning violently. He felt naked.
Exposed.
He couldn't go to school. Everyone would see, everyone would know, they would know and they would hate him. They'd find him and smash his head open on a rock. They'd-
Stop, he told himself.
Stopstopstop.
His breathing was ragged and strained. His face felt hot and his legs were weak.
He thought about the pills in his sock drawer.
But, no, if he went back he'd be late. He'd run into his mom and she would demand to know what was going on and then-
He crawled up the jungle gym, sinking down against the bars at the highest point. Rubbing the tips of his fingers against the hard metal until they ached.
"Lose the vag."
He shut his eyes tightly, slamming his fist into the metal, relishing the pain that exploded in his knuckles.
"Fuck her," he whispered, repulsed by the tears in his voice.
"Weak little bitches..."
He slammed his head back against the bars.
Without thinking he reached into his backpack. He felt around for a while jabbing his fingers on pencils and index cards before he found it.
Bingo.
He flicked the lighter, mesmerized by the familiar blue and yellow flicker. The heat built around his thumb and he bit his lip. With a quick glance around he ran his free hand through the flame once.
The heat brought him back to himself.
He dropped the lighter in his lap and pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes until spots of color swam before him.
It had been a long time since he hurt himself.
He was scared to start again.
Not afraid of the pain – that was the biggest draw. The sharp sting at first and the way the soreness stuck around for days at a time. Always there to remind you. This is what I've done. I made this pain, and now it's mine to keep. The release, the surety of it. He missed it with the wistfulness he imagined one might feel for a lover that left on uncertain terms.
But he was scared of what starting again would mean.
He hadn't hurt himself since he transitioned.
Since that day in the basement when he'd been so sure, so determined that there would be no need.
Since the way his mother screamed and sobbed and "Oh my god, baby, what are you doing?"
It wasn't easy. God, no it wasn't easy. But here he was. For the first time in his life he was getting what he wanted – at least kind of.
He wondered if there was something wrong with him – that he wasn't really happy.
He was passing. Like, every day he was passing. No one knew here – no one but his family. And his teachers called him "Mr. Torres" and when the rec teacher asked for "gentlemen on this side, ladies on this side" he stood with the gentlemen and it was normal. He was finally living as male and he knew there were tons of guys out there that would kill for this but still...
Maybe there was something wrong with him
Like, really wrong with him.
Maybe his brain was as fucked as his body and he was just incapable of feelings things the way normal people did.
Because sometimes he looked at the people around him and felt miles away. They would laugh or smile and he would just stand there; empty and removed from everything.
Those were the best times to burn or to cut or to slam his head into a wall because, hell, at least then he could feel something.
He flicked the lighter on and off several times.
He hadn't burned himself in a long time.
Because at first he felt like there hadn't been any need. In the beginning of transition he'd just felt so good to be living as male. Most of the school didn't seem to give a shit. His friends were almost universally supportive. And Patrick and those guys were dicks, sure; but they were dicks before, too. And the things they said tore him to pieces sometimes, sure; but then his friends would punch him in the arm and Laura would kiss his chin and squeeze his fingers and it was easier.
It wasn't perfect, but it was better than anything that had ever come before.
Then things went to hell.
But here he was; rebuilt for the second time.
And no matter what he tried he couldn't get that feeling back; even though his parents had been getting better, even though he was stealth here.
He felt like Sisyphus – every time he thought he would be rid of his burdens, they'd come back full force and he'd be right back where he started.
He knew there was a difference between depression and dysphoria.
He knew he suffered from both.
He knew the pills and the therapist were supposed to help.
Knowing didn't make it any easier. Knowing didn't make him feel better.
His biggest worry was having his mother find out.
He'd broken her, the first time.
He hated himself for it.
But he'd broken her, and if she caught him slipping back into bad habits he didn't know what she'd do.
And there was a part of him that was scared that it would be like giving up.
He hadn't hurt himself since transition. Discovering his history of SI was part of what moved his mother to accept him as transgender – at least to accept the fact that he wanted to explore transition. He was scared that if she found out he was self-harming again that it would somehow de-legitimatize his maleness.
He rolled his shoulders, slipping the lighter back into his backpack and burying his face in his hands.
Maybe it was ridiculous.
It would probably be a good idea to call Dr. Scott when he got home from school.
Or maybe he would go to Eli's and get drunk again.
With a sigh he pushed himself up off the ground. He glanced at the watch on his wrist.
If he ran, he might be able to make it to school before the end of first period.
X-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-X
By the time the final bell rang, Adam's mood wasn't much improved.
The oppressive strain of anxiety against his ribcage has eased slightly. Bianca hadn't looked at him once during Recreation. But, then again, neither had Clarence Dewey. In fact, no one seemed to really make any moves on him all day. Owen had called him gay in the halls, once, but that was becoming increasingly normal and Adam didn't even really blink at the insult anymore.
In a weird, fucked up way, being ignored kind of helped.
The very first time he came to school with his first short haircut and Drew's baggy hand-me-downs he'd been the object of far more attention than he'd ever wanted.
Going through the school day relatively invisible had set him at ease.
Bianca's earlier comments still stung but he'd brooded on them enough to accept them at face-value.
It was a shitty, hurtful thing to say, but that's all it had been.
There was no deeper meaning beyond the fact that she was trying to hurt him.
Still, the encounter left a bad taste in his mouth.
He never wanted to see her again.
Or he wanted to go and find her and pull his heart from his chest and show her all the things he'd been trying to say at the park but could never quite articulate.
Or he wanted to apologize.
Or he wanted to just stop giving a fuck.
He slammed his locker shut with a groan wishing that he could turn his brain off for an hour.
Yeah. Not giving a fuck would be pretty good.
"Adam!" Clare's voice floated across the hall.
"Yeah?" he turned around, pressing his back into the metal of his locker, pulling his backpack against his chest.
"Eli wanted to see if you'd come with us to The Dot."
"Why?" watching Clare throw herself at Eli while he acted like a dick and ignored her wasn't on the top of Adam's To Do list after such a shitty day.
"It'd be a good idea to get started on the Shakespeare presentation for Dawes' class," Clare reminded him. "It's due in a week."
"Shit," Adam whispered. "Yeah. Okay. We leaving now?"
Clare nodded. "Yep, c'mon."
Adam slung his backpack over his shoulder and followed her sluggishly.
"I'll only be able to stick around for an hour today," Clare informed him. "The little kids are putting on a play at my church today, I volunteered to help out backstage. But we should still have enough time to work out a decent concept, and I can get started writing it today or tomorrow."
"Cool," Adam said, barely listening.
Bianca was leaning up against her locker, some loser with big hands and an awful haircut was bending down to whisper something to her. She smacked his chest and pushed him back, but with a great deal more ferocity than most girls Adam had observed.
Underneath her bored smile Adam saw a note of unease.
It made his stomach clench.
He looked away and followed Clare out the doors.
X-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-X
"That's my dad," said Clare, looking up from a text. "Sorry, guys. I have to get going."
"Okay," Eli said, rising to hug her goodbye. "See you tomorrow, Clare."
"Adam?" she prodded gently as she turned to go.
"Hmm?" he asked absently, still staring resolutely at the table between them.
"Um, bye," she said awkwardly, with a small wave of her hand.
"Oh, you're leaving?" he blinked, snapping back to reality.
"Yep," she nodded, looking at him oddly.
"Okay, bye," he stood hugging her briefly and following her with his eyes as she walked out of the cafe.
"Alright, so, what's your deal today?" Eli asked bluntly as soon as she was out of earshot.
"What are you talking about?" Adam knew playing dumb was futile, but some part of him wasn't prepared to give Eli what he wanted right away.
"Why are you acting like someone killed your dog?" Eli asked. He paused, then, frowning. "Wait, your dog didn't die, did it?"
Adam shook his head. "We don't have a dog. My mom won't let us. They're too messy."
Eli rolled his eyes. "Your mom is a she-demon."
Adam shrugged, drawing patterns on the table with the condensation from his soda.
"Okay, so we've ruled out dog-related tragedy," Eli continued drolly. "So, what is your damage, exactly?"
Adam scowled. "I'm not allowed to just be miserable sometimes?"
"Hey, man, by all means – be a sorry little bitch. No fucking problem, but when you're completely ignoring Clare and I, I'm gonna call you out on it."
"I wasn't completely ignoring you."
"Okay, what play did we pick for the Shakespeare thing?"
Adam bit his lip. "Romeo and Juliet?"
Eli scowled. "No fair. You only guessed that right because I couldn't convince Clare to do Titus Andronicus."
Adam's face twisted. "Oh, God, why would you want to do that one?"
Eli smirked and shrugged. "C'mon, you don't think it'd be interesting to see Clare handling that one? She hadn't read it so I had to describe it to her. You should have been paying attention, the look on her face was priceless."
Adam shook his head. "You are one sick puppy, Goldsworthy."
Eli opened his mouth to respond but was cut off by a voice in the doorway.
"Does anyone know who drives the, er, hearse outside?" asked a rather nervous looking boy.
Eli stood up, staring him down warily. "Yeah."
"There are a couple guys in the back, looks like they're messing with it," the boy announced.
"Messing with it like how?" asked the guy at the counter. Peter, Adam was pretty sure.
"I don't know, man, I just figured I should let you know,' the boy said, nodding toward Eli.
"Thanks," Eli said darkly, grinding his teeth together and gathering his messenger bag.
"You want me to call the cops, bro?" Peter asked.
"No, man," Eli said, walking toward the door and gesturing for Adam to follow him. "I got it."
Adam reached into his pocket and quickly threw a couple bills onto the table for a tip, nodding to Peter and the boy who'd tipped them off as he exited.
He tried quell the rolling in his stomach. He was worried, of course, about the guys messing with the car and what they'd do when Eli confronted them.
But, maybe even more than that, he was worried about the dark look that passed over Eli's face.
He was worried what it meant for the guys stupid enough to fuck around with Morty.
When they got to the rear parking lot and Adam recognized the trio draped casually over Morty's hood, his stomach dropped.
Fitz was there swinging a set of keys around his finger, grinning to show teeth. Owen next to him, smirking stupidly.
Bianca standing a few feet off, looking disinterested and annoyed.
"Hey!" Eli shouted, fury reddening his cheeks and neck. "What the fuck?"
A flash of nervousness passed over Fitz's face, but he recovered smoothly. "Sup, Goldsworthy?"
Adam stared, slack-jawed at the long jagged scratch that ran the length of Morty's body that, miraculously, Eli didn't seem to notice yet.
"What are looking at, fag?" Fitz sneered.
"I... I'm not sure," Adam said, words falling past his lips effortlessly. He felt a growing horror rising in his stomach as his brained raced to catch up with his mouth. "I mean – bipedal, humanoid; I wanna go with Neanderthal, but evidence shows they posessed a-a certain level of intelligence..."
Bianca barked out a laugh. Fitz looked insulted and Owen look confused.
"Did you just call me stupid, you dumb fuck?" Fitz demanded, stepping forward.
"What the fuck did you do to my car?" Eli exploded, seeing the damage now that Fitz was out of the way.
"Oh, you like that?" Fitz grinned. "Thought we'd detail it for y-"
Eli flew forward, landing a punch on Fitz's jaw. Fitz stumbled backward from the unexpected blow, hands coming up to cup his chin.
Owen stepped forward taking a swing at Eli. The smaller boy managed to avoid the blow but lost his balance, leaving him open for Fitz to tackle.
"Fuck!" Eli shouted as his back hit the ground.
Adam's eyes widened.
Oh shit.
Fitz and Eli struggled on the ground, slamming each other into the pavement. Kicking and cursing and spitting.
Ohshitohshitoshit.
"Ah!" Eli shouted in pain as Fitz threw a hard left that connected with his nose.
Adam threw himself forward. Owen intercepted him, a beefy arm around his neck, lifting him off the ground and swinging him away from the fight. Adam panicked, reacting badly and swinging out with all his limbs. His left heel connected with Owen's crotch, causing the bigger boy to groan and drop him.
Adam turned around, delivering another hard kick to Owen's chest before turning back and throwing his body against Fitz.
Fitz made a shocked noise as Adam's sudden weight forced him off Eli and onto the ground. Adam struggled to stay on top of him, fingers scrambling, nails scraping against Fitz's arms and neck as he fought to keep the upper hand.
"Get the fuck off me!" Fitz demanded, trying to get his arms up. He knocked Adam's lips against his teeth with the back of his hand, filling his mouth with the sharp taste of blood.
Adam coughed when Fitz's elbow connected with his chest, blood flying from his lips as he sputtered, bringing the side of his fist clumsily down on Fitz's face.
"Hey!" Bianca's voice cut through the haze of pain and panic. "Someone called the cops!"
Adam felt a strong grip on the back of his hoodie and then a sick moment of weightlessness before his tailbone hit the ground hard. He swung around wildly, blood flying from his lip ready to throw more frantic punches – shocked to find it was Eli that got him off of Ftiz.
"Let's go," Eli said, helping him off the ground and guiding him into Morty's front passenger seat.
Everything hurt.
Adam sank back into the seat, chest heaving.
Alive.
On fire.
X-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-X
They pulled up in front of Eli's house.
His nose was bloody and when he breathed there was a faint whistling. He didn't seem to fazed, by the whole ordeal.
Adam sat motionless staring down at his raw knuckles.
"What the fuck did we just do?" he asked slowly.
Eli gave him that slow, burning smirk and clapped him hard on the shoulder.
"We kicked Fitz and Owen's dumb asses."
"Holy shit," Adam breathed, allowing himself to bask in the pride in Eli's voice.
Eli chuckled. "How do you feel, man?"
"I don't know," Adam admitted, flexing his hands, enjoying the ache. "I... good, I think."
"Good?"
"Fucking awesome."
"Fuck yeah," Eli grinned, slapping his cheek gently, angling his head so that he could observe him better.
"Looks like he popped you in the mouth," Eli murmured absently, running a knuckle across Adam's sore lip. Adam winced and tried to move back, but Eli's firm hand on his cheek kept him in place. "Does it hurt?"
"Kind of," Adam swallowed. His heart was pounding.
The trickle of blood from Eli's nose ran across his lips and down his chin. Adam wanted to touch it with his fingertips.
Where the hell did that come from?
He exhaled shakily and pulled away from Eli.
"I'd put some ice on it," Eli suggested, killing the engine.
"Yeah," Adam nodded vacantly.
"Coming in?" Eli asked, gesturing toward the house.
"Is your brother home?" Adam asked. He didn't quite know why the thought of running into Garrett again made him so nervous, but it did.
Eli frowned, glancing down at his watch. "He should be at work right now."
"Okay," Adam said. "I'm gonna call my mom first."
Eli shrugged. "Fine. Lock the doors when you get out, I'll meet you inside."
The phone call was quick and painless. Adam was staying at his friend Eli's house to do homework. He would be home by curfew. No, he probably wouldn't be home for dinner, so don't worry about it.
For the first time when he walks into Eli's house, it's not dark.
He sees Eli lingering in the doorway to what Adam's pretty sure is the living room. There's an unfamiliar voice. A woman. Adam steps forward slowly.
Eli caught him from the corner of his eye. He turned his head slightly, shaking it and mouthing something Adam couldn't quite make out.
"Who's that?" came the woman's voice. "Is Garrett home?"
Eli grimaced, catching Adam's eye. He gave a subtle shake of his head.
Adam bit his lip, hanging back in the hallway, unsure.
"Elijah, is your brother home?" the woman asked again, sharply.
Eli hesitated again.
'Do you want me to go?' Adam mouthed to him silently.
"No," Eli said after a moment, turning to face his mother. "Just a friend."
"Goddammit," she cursed. "Whoever you are, skank, get the hell out of my house!"
"Mom," Eli rebuked, looking stunned.
He heard the clinking of glasses and shuffling from the room.
"I'm serious, you hussy," the sound of heavy, uneven footfalls on the wood floor.
A woman came through the doorway, pushing right past Eli's feeble attempts to hold her back.
She looked like she could have been pretty, once; blonde, and stacked, with vivid green eyes.
But her hair was messy and wild; her eyes bloodshot; her body weighed down with the heaviness that alcoholics seem to carry.
"He's already gotten one of you kn-"
The words died on her lips as she stopped abruptly in front of Adam.
She stared at Adam, swaying and blinking slowly.
"Um," he cleared his throat. "Hey," his wave was short and awkward.
"Who the hell are you?" she slurred, turning quickly to Eli. "Who the hell is this?"
Eli rolled his eyes. "Mom, this is-"
"Adam Torres," Adam stepped forward, jerkily. He held out a hand to her. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Goldsworthy."
She stared at him, lip curled. "Seriously, what the fuck is going on?"
"I told you," Eli said, stepping forward and grabbing her elbow harshly. "He's a friend of mine."
"Now, that can't be true," she shot back, jerking out of his grasp. "You don't have any friends."
Eli shrunk back as if struck, but recovered quickly; slipping back into his mask of indifference with aplomb.
"Just leave us the fuck alone," Eli demanded flatly – only the harsh nature of his words and the dangerous flash in his eyes betraying his true anger. "You're fucking drunk again."
She spun around violently. "Don't you fucking talk to me like that, Elijah!"
He opened his mouth to speak again but shut it just as quickly.
"You're my son, goddammit," she continued. "And I'll be damned if I raised you on my own for eleven fucking years now and have you speak to me like that."
Adam's cheeks were burning with embarrassment for intruding on such an... intimate family argument. His throat felt like sandpaper.
God, he just wanted to not be there.
"Just you wait 'til your brother gets home," she said darkly, wagging a finger at him.
"Whatever," he sneered, grabbing Adam by the shoulder and pulling him toward the door.
"Make sure you use a rubber this time, Eli," Mrs. Goldsworthy taunted. "I just barely avoided becoming a grandmother, I don't need no faggot son with AIDS running around now."
Eli slammed the door.
When they got to the car he turned the music up as loud as it would go.
It hurt Adam's ears but he was grateful for the volume – it effectively quashed any chance of conversation.
Several songs later, Eli pulled into the parking lot of a grocery store and killed the engine.
The silence was overwhelming.
"God, she is such a bitch," Eli lamented, pressing his forehead to the steering wheel.
Adam stayed silent, twisting his sleeves and trying to think of words that wouldn't sound stupid or out of place in the situation.
"I'm sorry," Eli said after a moment. "I mean, that you had to be there for that."
"It's... it's okay," Adam said after a moment.
"No, it's not," Eli protested, bringing the side of his fist down on the steering wheel; the short, sharp blare of the horn rewarding his action. "It's not fucking okay, that was such..."
"No, really," Adam reassured him. "In fact, maybe I should be thanking you..."
Eli looked up, waiting for him to continue.
"I mean, now I feel a hell of a lot better about going home to my mom," he joked weakly.
Eli laughed.
The joke wasn't particularly funny, at least not by Adam's standards but something about Eli's cackle was infectious and he joined in.
Eli slung an arm around his shoulder, a strange desperate half-hug across the center console.
They laughed alone in the parking lot until the windows fogged and their throats ached.
AN: Okay! Here's the deal, guys - next chapter is very short comparatively so I don't think it's quite worth the week's wait. It's up as soon as I get 12 reviews on this one or in three days. Whatever comes first, I guess.
Lots of things happened this time! Someone bolder might call it action-packed! Did it give you feelings? TELL ME YOUR FEELINGS BECAUSE I REALLY CARE ABOUT THEM.
-Orange