HERE IS CHAPTER TWO
DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN SABRETOOTH. VINCENT, THE BULLIES, THE MAIN OFFICE LADY, THE PRINCIPAL, AND MR. NICK ARE MINE ALONG WITH A FUTURE CHARACTER THAT WILL BE IN THE NEXT CHAPTER.
VICTOR AND VINCENT WALK THROUGH THE "STORY DOOR" BESIDE THE COMPUTER TABLE THAT I'M SITTING AT. IT LEADS TO THE "DADDY'S BOY" STORY LIKE THE OTHER THREE STORIES I'M WORKING ON. THEY EACH HAVE THEIR OWN DOOR.
VICTOR GRINS AT HIS SON: YOU WERE SO CUTE WHEN YOU WERE A TINY CUB.
VINCENT BLUSHES: NOT IN FRONT OF THE LADIES, DAD.
ME: IT'S TRUE VINCENT. YOU WERE A VERY CUTE CUB. AND STILL ARE.
VINCENT: WHAT IS IT WITH ME AND NOT SWEARING AT THE HOUSE? WHAT'S UP WITH THAT?
ME: BECAUSE I SAID SO AND BECAUSE I MADE YOUR FATHER SAY SO, TOO. BESIDES YOU SHOULDN'T SWEAR AT THAT AGE.
VINCENT: BUT YOU DO, X24NEKO.
ME: TOUCHE. ALRIGHT, BACK THROUGH THE DOOR AND INTO THE STORY. *GIVES THEM A LITTLE PUSH THROUGH THE DOOR*
2
Victor woke up to something. He leaned back on his left elbow while rubbing eyes with his other hand. He looked at his digital clock on his nightstand. 2:00 am. He heard it again and raised a brow. He got out of bed and pulled on a shirt and walked out of his room in a shirt and sweatpants and stood in the doorway. He heard it again. It was coming from downstairs. He walked down the stairs, following the sound. He stopped at the bottom of the stairs and sniffed. He smelled his cub. He followed Vincent's scent into the kitchen as the clatter picked up again. He flicked the light on and saw Vincent freeze.
The entire kitchen was trashed. The cabinets were open and the contents were on the floor and counters. Victor eyes looked around and fell on Vincent. He was standing in front of the only drawer that was still in the counter by the fridge and was looking at Victor. Victor growled and crossed his arms.
"Care to explain why the kitchen is trashed and what you are doing up at two in the mornin'?" Victor asked.
"I'm lookin' for some aspirin," Vincent said. "My head is killin' me. It feels like someone is poundin' my head with a sledgehammer."
"The aspirin is right to your left on the counter. Right where you left it two days ago for that pain in your leg," Victor said.
Vincent turned and saw it. "Oh." He grabbed it and swallowed a pill.
"Give me the aspirin bottle and get back to bed. I don't want ya takin' more than you need. You can clean this mess up after yer detention later today," Victor said.
His cub walked out, giving him the bottle on the way. Victor watched him go up the stairs. Victor walked into the kitchen and put the aspirin back in its drawer that was the one Vincent was about to open. He looked around and shook his head. He shouldn't be mad with his boy. It was just his son's mutation coming and made him trash the kitchen from a bad headache. Victor flicked the light off and headed to his own room.
Victor didn't sleep at all. He kept thinking about his son's mutations. Kept thinking if they would have to move to protect him. Kept thinking if he will get a physical mutation that would make him look like a cat. These thoughts wouldn't go away. They stayed glued to his mind, no matter how hard he tried to make them go away. He finally gave up and stared at the ceiling. Soon, dawn approached. About two hours later Victor got out of bed. It was now 6:00 am. He decided to let him sleep an extra thirty minutes. thirty minutes later Victor walked to his son's room and found him sound asleep with his head hanging upside down off the bed. Victor chuckled and walked over to him. Victor shook his son's shoulder.
"C'mon, get up, Vin," Victor said.
Vincent opened his eyes and saw his father upside down. He sat up and turned to his father and scowled. "You woke me up from an amazin' dream."
"Amazin' dream, huh? Was it about that frail ya like?"
Vincent looked down and his face turned red a little. "Yeah. She ain't frail, Dad."
"She looks it," Victor said.
"She may look it, but she ain't."
"Ya need to get dress, so we can get to yer school," Victor said.
"Do I have to?"
"Yes, Vin, ya do. I don't want to go and see yer teachers either. I dislike 'em a lot, but we still have to go."
"Fine. Can ya get me out of detention?"
"Don't think I can or will. Even though you don't like yer teachers, ya still have to respect yer elders, boy."
"I know, Dad, I know."
"Now get dress and meet me downstairs."
Vincent nodded and Victor left for his room. Victor threw on a white tank top, black flannel and buttoned it up to the last three buttons, threw on jeans and tucked the flannel in, boots, and grabbed his leather jacket on his way out of his room. He went downstairs and waited by the garage door for his son. A few minutes later Vincent walked down the stairs and met his father at the door and had his old backpack on his shoulders. He was wearing the same jeans and boots and his clothes were similar to Victor's, but his tank top and flannel, which was tucked in also and buttoned the same, were dark blue. Victor smiled at his son, showing his fangs.
"Ya ready?" Victor asked.
"Yep."
"Got yer books?"
"Yep."
"Here's some lunch money. Try not to loose it, ya hear?"
"Yes, Dad."
They left for the garage and got into Victor's truck that he had since Vincent was a baby. It was old now. It had been when his son was only a baby, but it still took you where you wanted. Vincent fastened his seat belt and waited for his dad to do the same. Victor put his own on and put the key in the ignition and turned it. The engine sputtered.
Victor raised a brow. "The hell?" He tried again and it sputtered, refusing to start. Again it sputtered, and again. "C'mon, don't die on me."
Victor tried once again and it roared to life. He smiled, putting the truck into gear, back out, and drove to the high school through town. It took a good fifteen to twenty minutes to get to the Mount Desert Island High School. Victor turned onto the drive and drove up it, going slowly over the speed bumps. Then Victor parked the truck in the parking lot in front of the main office. Victor turned to his son.
"Ya ready?" he asked.
"No" was the answer he got.
"C'mon, out you go," Victor said, getting out of the truck.
Vincent got out and followed his dad inside. Victor went to the office window.
"Excuse me," he said to the lady. "I'm here with my son, Vincent Creed, to speak with a few teachers."
The elderly woman looked up at him and nodded. "Alright, I'll tell the principal you are here."
"Thanks."
Victor and Vincent sat down on the bench beside the office window, waiting for the principal. Five minutes later the lady spoke up.
"He's ready for you now."
Victor nodded and he and his son walked to the principal's office that was a few doors down. The door was opened and Victor knocked on the side of the doorway. The principal looked up.
"Mr. Creed, Vincent, come in," said the principal.
They did and Mr. Nick was sitting in the left hand chair in front of the principal's desk. Vincent got stuck in the middle and Victor sat in the last chair. Vincent kept his eyes off of his teacher.
"It's good to see you again, Mr. Creed," the principal said.
"Likewise, Mr. Adams," Victor said. "Let's get this meeting started."
"Right. Now, I'm sure you know why you and your son are here."
"Yes, but I don't really know what happened."
"Your son, Mr. Creed, told me off after turning in his World War ll paper. The one to ask the elderly about what they did during the War."
"There must have been a reason for it."
"He didn't believe me about the paper," Vincent spoke up.
"Didn't believe you?" Adams asked.
"Yeah, he didn't believe my grandpa and his brother rescued a dozen or so people from a camp during the War," Vincent said. "That is what this is all about. And he's failing me because he doesn't like the work I turn it."
"I highly doubt that. We aren't here about your work, Vincent. We are here about your behavior with teachers," Adams said. "You cannot continue acting this way. Telling a teacher off and walking out of the classroom. It won't be tolerated, Vincent."
Vincent said nothing. He just glared at the floor.
"You will serve a two hour detention with Mr. Nick after school today."
Vincent looked at him and nodded.
"Good. I think that covers everything. Good day, Mr. Creed, Vincent, Mr. Nick."
Mr. Nick was the first to walk out followed by Vincent and Victor. School was to start in thirty minutes. Mr. Nick went to his classroom. Victor looked at his cub and saw him rubbing his fingers as they walked a door from the principal's office and stopped there.
"You okay, cub?"
"Fine. Angry at Nick and my fingers feel weird. I think the claws are growing."
Victor took one of his son's hands into his and looked at them. "Looks like they are. Try to keep them retracted and behave yerself. Don't give anyone any lip, ya hear?"
Vincent nodded.
"I'm gonna be home all day. If somethin' happens ya call me and I'll come and get ya."
Vincent nodded again.
Victor put a hand on Vincent's shoulder and gave it a squeeze. "Don't let anyone get to ya."
Vincent nodded again and Victor left. Vincent watched his father leave and he headed for his first class to wait in the room until it started. He entered the classroom and took his seat in the back. He set his bag under the desk chair and sat down. He looked at his hands and retracted the growing claws. They disappeared under the nail beds. Soon school started and Vincent watched as all the kids walk in and take their seats. The teacher walked in and Vincent's writing class started. The assignment was free write and Vincent took out his thick note book and pen that had an eraser on it and continued writing the story he had been working on for the past few weeks.
Vincent was in the middle of a sentence when a piece of paper was set right on his notebook. He looked at it and it had his name written on it. It was messy, but he could read it. He set his pen down and opened it. He frowned at it and looked to his left where a boy that was looking at him smirked. Vincent crumpled the note in his hand and put it in his pocket. He went back to his story. He looked at the half completed sentence and thought. He couldn't remember what he was writing. He was really into the story when he got disturbed and now he couldn't remember. After ten minutes the thought came back and he continued writing. He got about thirteen pages done when the bell rang. He closed his book, put it and his pen in his bag, threw a strap over his shoulder, and left the class.
He made his way to his locker. It was now locker break. He did the combination and opened it. He grabbed a few books for his third and fourth class, put them in his bag, closed the door and made his way to his next class. It was a study hall and he had no work to do because of all of the homework being complete, so he decided to take a walk around the school. As Vincent was walking he took out the crumpled note from his jeans' pocket. He looked at it again and shook his head. He saw a garbage bin as he walked and threw the note in it. He continued his walk and felt his nails extract. He stopped and looked around. No one was near. He looked down at his hands and tried retracting his claws. They painfully went back in their nail beds. He looked down at his hands and shook his head, confused why it hurt. He continued walking, never noticing the school security camera that was hanging above his head.
Vincent was still wondering the school hallways with his bag over his shoulders when he thought he felt something wet on his hand. He lifted his left hand and saw blood dripping down his hand and onto the floor. He ran into the boys' bathroom that was only a few feet away. He barged in and turned the faucet on, running his hand under the water. He turned it off and looked at his hand. The blood was seeping around his claws. He didn't even feel them extract. He tried retracting the claws and they retracted, the seeping blood stopping. He sighed, relieved and cleaned the blood off. He cleaned the bathroom floor and hallway floor where his blood dripped. He threw away the paper towels and continued making his way to nowhere around the school.
Vincent was making his way down the hall when he heard footsteps behind him. He turned around and saw it was the kid who smirked at him earlier. He had blonde hair, dark eyes, was as tall as Vincent, was stronger than Vincent, captain of the football team, had a snotty attitude that was a I'm better than you and I'm gonna prove it to you way, and his name was Brad Williams. He was with his two minions that were red headed twins.
"Can I help you, Williams?" Vincent asked.
"Yeah," Williams said. "Come with me outside."
Vincent looked over his shoulder and saw the twins were blocking the way he was going. He looked back at Williams and followed him out a side door that led to the field behind the school. Williams' minions stood in front of the door. Vincent glared at them then to Williams.
"What do you want, Williams?"
"Your lunch money," Williams said. "As usual."
"Not today."
"What?"
"I said, not today, Williams. I ain't givin' you my lunch money. Why don't you go get some from some other kid?"
"Because they aren't as fun as you are."
They circled him, ready to fight. Vincent looked at them and turned to Williams. Just then the bell rang. Williams and the twins turned to the school and back to Vincent. Williams threw a fast and hard punch to Vincent's gut. Vincent doubled over in pain, gasping and fell face first onto the ground. He turned to lay on his, holding his stomach while Williams searched his pockets. He saw Williams smiled when he found the money. Then Williams looked at Vincent's hands and the smiled was wiped away. Vincent lifted a hand and saw his claws were extended (no blood was coming out). They came out without him feeling them. Again. He looked to Williams.
"Freak," Williams said and he and his minions left for lunch.
Vincent sat up, wincing, gasping, still holding his stomach. He retracted his claws and un-buttoned the flannel, lifted his tank top, and saw a big black and blue bruise the size of Williams' fist right in the center of his stomach. He was surprised he was not coughing up blood. He put his tank top back down and re buttoned the flannel. He slowly and carefully stood up, still wincing. It hurt when he bent forward. He panted from the effort of getting up. He made his way to the door and pulled on it. It was locked. Vincent growled and walked all the way to the front office doors and turned right for his next class. Vincent took his seat in the back. He sat down and waited for the class to start.
The last classes felt like they dragged on forever. Finally, the last class got over and he still sat there in his seat because the last class belonged to Mr. Nick. Mr. Nick was doing paper work to pass the time. Vincent bent over to get his backpack and winced in pain as he bent down to get his notebook and pen. He set them on his desk, opened the book, and continued his story. Sometime later as he wrote, jolts of pain shot his stomach and he winced, almost crying out. It got worse. A bigger pain shot at him and he held his stomach and held in a whimper. He looked at the clock. Only a few minutes left. Another pain hit him and it was bigger. He bit his tongue to stop the scream. He looked again. Two more minutes. His shaky hands put his stuff away in his bag that was on his desk. He looked again. One more minute. Screw it. He got up and rushed out the door. He didn't even hear his teacher say bye. He was running to the front office doors, panting, and now sweating from running. He saw his dad's truck and stumbled to it. He wiped the sweat off the best he could and calmed his panting and climbed in. He put on his seat belt.
"You alright, cub?" Victor looked at him.
Vincent nodded. "I just don't feel well."
Victor nodded and put the truck in gear and headed home.
Twenty minutes later they arrived home and Vincent stumbled through the garage door, making his way to the living room and collapsed on the couch. Victor rushed to him and knelt beside him as he sat right on the couch. He looked at his son and knew something was wrong with him when he got in the truck.
"Vincent, tell me what's wrong."
"My stomach hurts," he whimpered.
"How bad?"
"A lot."
Victor undid his son's flannel and lifted up the tank top and stared at the fist size black bruise in the center of his son's stomach. His fingers brushed over the bruise. He could be badly injured from that. He removed his son's flannel and tank top and made him lay down on the couch and tried making him as comfortable as possible.
"It hurts, Daddy."
"I know, cub," Victor said. He saw that the bruise was fading a tiny bit. He smiled a little. "Looks like you have a little of that healin' factor. Who did this to you?"
"The same guys that always take my lunch money. They did it again. The leader did this."
Victor scowled. "You'll be healed soon, cub. Lie here and rest. I'll make somethin' for dinner."
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