Summary: What if Max and the Flock had never gotten "the talk"? What is the outcome of an adolescence without an adult and knowledge of societal norms?


Chapter Four: Let Me Help You

I worriedly walked up the stairs to Fang's room. I took a deep breath and knocked. If he wouldn't come out, I had every intention to go in. I knocked surely and strongly.

"Fang, open up. You didn't come to dinner. Seriously, what are you doing in there?" I said sternly.

I heard a deep murmur from within.

"What? I can't hear a word. FANG if you DONT open this door RIGHT NOW, I WILL knock it down. I am NOT kidding Fang, you KNOW me."

"Go away," he said, a bit louder this time. At least I heard it this time around.

"No, Fang. What's wrong with you? You've been weird all day. Angel told me what you're thinking Fang. Why do you need Jeb, Fang? We don't need him anymore. Anything he can do, I can do, better."

"GO AWAY MAX," I heard a full blown shout from inside the door. I was amazed. I didn't know he had the capacity to raise his voice to me. A thought suddenly struck me. If he's shouting, there must really be something wrong he didn't want to me to find out about.

"FANG I'M COMING IN WHETHER YOU LIKE IT OR NOT," I exclaimed through the door. I kicked several times. Hard. Until I smashed my big toe. I stood outside in the narrow hallway clutching my poor toe with my eyes tearing.

"WHAT THE FUCK MAX?!?" I heard him shout from inside. Those kicks must've been pretty dang hard then, to tick him off. Go me!

"Uh-uh-uh, don't be a potty mouth fangy-poo. I'm coming in, so DEAL WITH IT!" I screamed at his door, still clutching my foot. Just for the sake of emphasis, I kicked the door one more time, loudly.

Definitely not a smart move. I wiped tears from the corners of my eyes. Why did I have to kick the door with the same foot?! Screw emphasis... Maximum Ride needs her big toe.

I smacked my forehead. Another thought had suddenly struck me. Maximum Ride, you dumb butt. Why do you need to knock the door down, when you can just fly in through his window? I rolled my eyes, for perhaps the 18th time today.

I stared at Fang's dumb door with disgust once I was done giving my big toe a well-deserved minute of pitying. It's just got to be so dang hard, doesn't it?

"Oh-kayy Fang, I give up. You win. I can't break your door down. So I guess I can't come in. OH WELL," I sung loudly at the door. I waited for a second, but didn't hear any response.

Staring at my poor toe sympathetically, I limped to my room at the end of the hallway, to vapidly fly out my window. I turned around two corners of our E-shaped house, until I found the window that I estimated to be Fang's. I was pretty sure it was his, cause the blinds were shut and all.

Hovering over the one single tiny window that he had in his room, I felt quite like Tinkerbell in that movie Peter Pan, while I was trying to open that dumb window guard of his. Why does he even have one anyway? I finally tugged it off, and threw it down.. somewhere.. I'm guessing into our backyard.. I mentally said sorry to any squirrels hurt in the haste of the process. But this was really necessary. Fang skipped dinner? Fang asked for Jeb? Fang's in pain and decided not to exert enough willpower to hide it from Angel? Definitely serious.

I grunted as I folded myself to shimmy into his room through the window like an accordion. I could hear Fang growling irritatedly at my antics once he had figured out what I was doing when I was halfway in. Once I was in, I stood up from where I had landed headfirst on the floor, and straightened out my clothes. The room was dark. How unexpected. (Can ya feel the surprise?) Fang was sitting on his bed, both of his hands holding his head, his arms propped up on his knees, sitting on the bed. His head was facing down as his hands ran through the surface of his scalp. The room was hot and dark, shadows filling the corners. There was a bit of clutter on the floor, drawing paper, cd albums, pieces of paper, some clothes casually thrown about haphazardly, but it wasn't a substantial mess.

Fang didn't look at me. But I could feel his anger radiating out towards me.

"Get, OUT Max. Now." Fang growled in the most lethally quiet voice, perhaps on the face of the earth.

I gulped audibly, but don't get me wrong. I definitely wasn't scared of him.

"Fang, what's wrong with you?! Why aren't you telling me what's wrong with you? Let me help you, Fang. You're a part of this flock whether you like it or not. Stop being so damned stubborn." I said to him, almost pleading, standing in front of the side of his bed.

"Max, get out. Please." He said quietly this time. Somehow, it sounded miles more dangerous this time.

I just started to get irrationally angry now.

"DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH THE FLOCK IS WORRIED FOR YOU? DO YOU? DO YOU EVEN CARE? DO YOU GIVE A SHIT, FANG? THEY CARE ABOUT YOU. WHY DONT YOU GIVE THEM THAT RESPECT AT THE LEAST?! CAN'T YOU FREAKING TELL ME WHATS BEEN WITH YOU TODAY?!" I screamed at him.. my spit was flying everywhere.. I couldn't help it. Tears started forming in my eyes. Real ones. Not ones that come when you hurt bang your toe a bunch of times. Emotional ones. Un-Max-like ones. Fang was quiet.

"Max.. please.. just-" Fang's voice broke. He didn't sound lethal anymore, just desperate. It irked me, but somehow that didn't register in my mind. I kept on screaming. Sometimes I don't get myself.

"Why? WHY DO YOU NEED JEB? Why do you want Jeb? I thought YOU, of all people, would be the one to get over him above all. We worked SO hard to forget him, and now you're telling me that he's still in this house anyway? What can't I do that Jeb can? What am I missing? I've been trying SO hard Fang. You know, Fang. You do know. I've been trying SO hard to keep this flock together. To show that we don't need that son of a bastard. What is it? What am I doing wrong? Why can't you tell me what's wrong with you? Why do you need Jeb?" At this point I was on Fang's floor.

I was curled up in a ball.. my arms wrapped around my knees, and my head in my stomach.. Everything was rushing out of me. Everything that I'd been worried about the past 10 months. 'Cause right now, of all times, I felt like.. like such a failure. I'd been trying so hard the whole year.. but I still couldn't help Fang, the one who had taken my hand and pulled me up. Fang wanted Jeb.. I wasn't the one that he thought would be able to help him. If I couldn't help him, how was I supposed to protect my four other bird kids? How could I do this? Why wouldn't he tell me what's wrong with him? Why did he need JEB? That son of a bastard.. I thought we didn't need him anymore. Am I still not good enough? Can't I measure up?

Fang shouted quietly into the covers that were over his knees.

"AGH. Max.. You don't understand. I don't want Jeb back. We don't need him anymore. But I can't tell you whats wrong with me. I don't want Jeb back. But I cant.. tell you whats wrong with me."

It was quiet for a long time.. maybe it was 2 or 3 minutes. Maybe it was just 30 seconds. I rubbed my face clean of any remnants of anything unproffesional-max. I looked up at him, still sitting on the floor beside his bed. His head was still facing down, but now resting ontop his folded arms on his propped up knees. It was silent for a while longer. For the first time, I looked closely at him. He was profusely sweaty, his hair was slicked back and messy with moisture and humidity, but he was still submerged underneath the covers.

"Fang, you're sweating bullets, take off the covers," I said to him calmly.

"No, Max... Please, just Get Out," he said in a low, cracking voice.

"Fang.. I need to protect you. You're a part of my flock. Let me help you. Tell me what's wrong with you. I can help you. You know I'd die for you, cause I know you'd die for me. You're hurting the flock so much right now. We don't know whats wrong with you, you're not telling me anything. If you don't want Jeb back, then why do you did you ask for him? Fang?" I leaned closer to him, standing on my knees next to his bed.

"I.. can't." He hesitated. "I know.. I know I'm hurting you. I know the flock is worried. But I can't.. I don't.. know.. what's wrong with me." He said.

"Can't what, Fang? What am I to you that you can't something, anything to me? Its my job to help you.. let me help you." I paused for a moment to give him a hard stare. "You don't always need to face your shit all by your self, doofus." I knocked lightly on his head with my fist jokingly.

Fang lifted his head, and his face startled me. Beads of sweat ran down his hairline, his eyes were open, but his face seemed drained, so tired, so exhausted, pained. I had a sudden thought that if he were a cartoon, he'd definitely be blue or some varying shade of purple. I shook that thought out of my head as I realized that something was definitely wrong.

"I can't show you whats wrong with me. I don't know.. I don't get why its like this, but I can't stand it anymore. I really really can't stand it anymore. All day its been so dreadful.." he ran his hands through the wet hair on his head from his forehead to his neck. I was superlatively surprised. It was an insanely long sentence, coming from Fang. I stayed very quiet, staring up at him on the bed from my spot on the floor.

"Show me Fang.. What's wrong..?" I whispered desperately, looking up at him. I was worried beyond measure, seeing him like this. He looked like he was going to die. I couldn't have my best friend die. We were thirteen. Thirteen. I wouldn't be able to survive without Fang. How would I protect my flock, how would I protect myself without him? He was the only person who knew me almost as well as I knew myself—probably even better. He can't die. I relied on him. It'd be too selfish of him to.

"Max... I can't.." but he resignedly took his arms off his knees and leaned back into his headboard. He was taking shallow heavy breaths. He was scaring me so much at this point. The covers were still up to his chest, but his sweat had clearly sunk down from his neck to his abdomen.

Fang exhaled loudly, and threw the hot covers off of himself, instantly looking marginally less tense, as the cooler air ran over his body. He lay on the bed completely face up, his head turned to look at me kneeling at the side of his bed, his eyes open, his adam's apple swinging up and down.

I stared at his torso and his boxer shorts. I couldn't fathom anything to be wrong from the sight of things.

"What's wrong?" I asked him. I needed an actual answer.

Fang stiffly lifted up his pelvic area and slid his boxers down, seeming to relish in the cool air washing over the lower regions of his sweat-soaked body. Normally, I would be turning away profusely, face red hot, but this was different. There was something wrong with Fang. He needed help. I stared at the newly exposed part of him intensely, trying to assess it and figure out what the problem was. Unfortunately, I didn't have much experience in the area.

"It's.. it's not supposed to be like that," Fang said to me in broken words. He wasn't looking at me, but straight ahead, at the end of his bedpost's foot board. He was looking at everything except me. So this is why he wanted Jeb. I felt rather foolish at the moment for misunderstanding.

"It's hard... and it isn't usually like... that. And.. I feel like I'm going to explode. Everything is numb. My thighs, and my abdomen.. they all feel so numb. It feels so weird... I can't explain it. Like I'm about to explode, like I'm going self-combust. I can't stand it anymore, it hurts so much.. It's so uncomfortable.. I can't stand this" Fang said slowly, his voice laced with pain. He was clenching his jaw, and speaking through his teeth.

"It went away for a little bit after I showered, but it just came back again. Max.. Max, what's wrong with me? " Fang said in between breaths.

I looked at him, feeling so ridiculously helpless. He looked like he was in so much pain.. I felt like crying. What was I supposed to do? I didn't have a single clue as to how to help him. The first thing I decided to do, was the obvious thing. What Jeb always did to us whenever we got hurt in training.

I took his towel from the back of his desk chair, and wiped down his body, cleaning all the sweat starting from his face, down to his legs. But when I brushed over his penis, he groaned.

"Fang! Fang, are you okay? I'm so sorry, Fang," I exclaimed. He closed his eyes tightly and turned his head to one side, breathing deeply in and out.

"Yeah, yeah I think so." He kept breathing deeply in and out, but he was looking more awake now.

I helped him change into a new shirt that wasn't soaked in sweat, and then I rolled the new shirt halfway up his chest. I'd follow to do the next thing that I'd always seen Jeb do when we'd ever gotten hurt. I took two fingers and gently pressed down on his abdomen. He groaned lightly.

"Does this hurt?" I asked him tentatively.

"I.. I don't know.." That worried me. How did he not know? Was it so numb that he couldn't feel pain? Maybe lack of blood circulation? How the heck did he get hurt like this? A million things were frantically running through my mind.

"Fang, can you feel this?" I asked again, worriedly. I moved my two fingers and pressed into another spot on his lower abdomen.

"No.. no.. not over there, over, over here," Fang said breathlessly. His eyes were closed, and his speech was still stifled. He was breathing shallow breaths. He took my hand with his and moved to a spot dangerously close to his mound of pubic hair. Close to where I had pressed down previously. His breaths grew deeper. He pressed my hands deeper into his lower abdomen with his, sliding our hands down and up the ripples on his skin on his abdominal muscles.

"Fang, is this hurting you?" I asked slowly again, worried. He hadn't answered the last few times, and I was getting intensely worried. What if he was internally bleeding? We can't get him to a hospital, thats like the second rule in the flock: Never let anyone find out about us, ever. The first rule was to live for the flock. I thought critically that the second rule could be breached because of the first rule, in certain circumstances.. I frantically decided that if this got serious, Iggy and I would have to fly Fang down to a Colorado Hospital. He can't bail on us like that. We'd do anything to make sure of it.

"It, no, it feels good Max.. It feels so good," Fang said erratically, within choked breaths. He let go of my hand as I began to continue pressing down through his lower abdomen following what he had done over my hands before. His breathing began to grow heavier.

"Max.. don't stop.. I.. I feel like I'm going to explode even more. I can't stand this.. Max, what is this? I don't get it, what's wrong with me.. I can't stand this feeling.." Fang clutched the bedsheets under his hands on either sides of him and tugged on them as I continued to apply pressure to his abdomen.

After a while, I decided to continue the initial consultation. I let go of his torso and moved my hand over to his upper thighs and pressed down. Fang groaned, marginally loudly.

"Can you feel this too? Does it hurt here?" I asked him worriedly.

"Ma-ax.." he groaned out, throwing his neck back and thrashing his head from side to side.

"Oh my god, Max.." he continued to say.

Suddenly he grabbed the hand that was I was pressing into his upper thigh, covering it with his own. Fang's eyes were half-lidded, making me worriedly wonder if he was conscious of himself. He took my hands, covered with his own, and placed them palm-down flat on his penis. It was lying splayed across of his left thigh.

"Max.. max.. that, that feels good," Fang said in a choked voice.

"What, you mean, the contact here?" I asked him, to clarify.

Experimentally, I applied pressure to it, since thats what he had seemed to respond positively to. Fang moaned.. except, for the first time, the moan didn't hold a hint of pain, it was purely positive.. purely.. wanting. Fang took my hand and wrapped it around his penis, his hand over mine. His neck was still thrown back on his pillow, and his eyes were closed, facing his ceiling. He quickly slid our hands up it, and then down. His breathing was shallow and quick, and hard all at the same time. He let go of my hand, and clutched his bedsheets again, beginning to instinctively push his pelvis up and down off the bed, sliding his penis in my palm.

"No.. I think.. I think it's the friction," He responded to me. I mentally breathed a sigh of relief, he had actually answered one of my questions. He sounded more conscious and awake now, as well. He sounded better, I thought hopefully, desperately.

"Max.. harder, harder.. tighter.. It needs to be harder," he said in a low, gruff voice. I nodded determinedly, and squeezed my hand tighter around his penis. Fang was grunting uncontrollably at this point, he had stopped thrusting, and it was just me holding onto his penis with both hands going up and down, squeezing as tight as I possibly could. At some point Fang began to say between gasps, "Max, max.. it feels like.. almost.. there..," and before I knew it, mucus-like whitish fluid had found itself all over my sleeves, his thighs and abdomen. The white stuff was what was making his penis all hard, that made him feel like he needed to explode, making his thighs and abs hurt so much, to get it out.

Fang was breathing deeply, I picked up his towel from the floor and began to clean up the sticky white fluid residue. After I was done, and Fang seemed to have settled a bit, I began to ask him questions anxiously.

"Fang.. Fang, are you okay? Fang? Hey?" I desperately searched his face for any signs. He didn't respond, still breathing heavily.

"Is this what its supposed to look like? It's not hard anymore, is it? Fang?" I asked him, touching the softened penis, while blubbering out whatever came to mind in anxiety. Fang looked at me, a soft look washing over his features. He touched my cheek gently.

"Yeah.. I'm good now.. Thank you.. Thank you so much, Max." Fang said gently. His hand was sitting lightly on my face.

It was so Un-Max-like of me.. But I started to cry.. I didnt even know why. I felt so dumb.. Fang's rough callused fingers wiped each tear away before they could drop more than a centimeter. I grabbed the side of his shirt that was facing me with my fists and dug my face into the area of mattress below his right arm.

"Fang.. Fang.. I seriously thought I was going to lose you.. I didn't know what to do.. Fang, I was so scared.. I'm.. I'm so happy you're okay now. I thought I couldn't help you." I'm not sure if he heard me, muffled into his mattress, but he probably did. He's Fang. It's sort of his job to hear everything embarrassing I might ever have the unfortunate circumstance to say in my entire life, happen to catch me in my most unflattering, embarrassing moments I may ever be in, in my entire life. It's just what he does. I felt him put a hand on the back of my head, and run his fingers through my hair. Tiredly he said, "Its okay now.. I'm good now. Thank you Max."