High School Confidential

Rating: PG
Category: AU
Pairing(s): Nathan/Charles
Warnings: Bullies. Implied violence.
Summary: Charles makes a friend
Notes:

Charles Foster Offdensen was fourteen years old. As such he was much too old to be crying. Therefore he was not crying. Absolutely not. He was not crying his eyes out after having gotten his ass kicked, his shirt ripped, his glasses stomped into a Salvador Dali sculpture and his books thrown all over the place. He was just having an allergy attack, that was all.

He wiped his nose with the back of his hand, spying a wide smear of blood. Oh great, his nose was bleeding. Wonderful. And his lips had been torn to shreds on his braces. Ah what a lovely day to be a nerd, now that fall was here and the football players were in bloom. Useless homophobic assholes, all so damned scared they might be the smallest bit attracted to another male that they had to stomp the hell out of anything not like them, oblivious to the fact that the very act of attacking and dominating someone was in its own way sexual.

He’d show them. Someday. He’d show them all.

He was slowly gathering up his books when a shadow fell over him, and Charles paused. It was a big shadow; wide, tall… and carrying a football helmet in one hand. Great. Beating number two, coming up.

Charles slowly raised his head and considered the other boy. He was one of the ninth grade kids, a year older than himself, and probably a hundred pounds heavier. He was huge, with black hair, wide shoulders, and the coldest, deadest eyes Charles had ever seen. Charles felt his throat tighten in fear, noticing the boy wore not sneakers, but boots. Black leather motorcycle boots – heavy and hard enough to smash his skull like an egg. Charles drew back as the huge lumbering brute came closer…

And began picking up his books. Charles awaited the inevitable destruction or theft of his text books, but the behemoth did neither. He then helped him up. Okay, Charles was thoroughly confused now.

“Thanks,” said Charles warily, still not sure this wasn’t a trick.

“S’okay,” said the giant in a quiet voice that sounded like the snarling of an angered hell hound. “C’mon. I’ll walk you home.”

Charles began walking, keeping an eye on the boy beside him; football helmet in one hand, Charles’ books in the other, wearing a letterman jacket with the name EXPLOSION emblazoned on it. So this was the infamous Nathan Explosion, the player who had so far put five opposing team mates in the hospital… and two from his own team. Charles had heard about his creepy, blood-soaked history. When he was eight or nine a drunk driver crashed into his classroom, killing the teacher and a couple of kids. Nathan had been found covered in blood, saying nothing, calmly watching the ensuing chaos. Paramedics had urged his mother to get him help, but she had brushed off his coldness, saying he was just frightened. Nathan Explosion, cold, quiet, and very, very dangerous, at least if the rumours were true. Even if they were not, Charles felt no urge to provoke him.

Charles wondered how many bodies this guy had in his basement. Then, partway home, Charles watched in amazement as Nathan took a treat out of his pocket and offered it to one of the local cats. He cast Charles a look that was almost guilty.

“I like kitties,” he growled.

Charles raised an eyebrow. Jack the Ripper liked kitties. Well colour him surprised.

“I like kitties too,” said Charles quietly, then added; “My name is Charles.”

“Yeah, I know. You’re the smart kid with the fencing sword. That’s cool. I… see you practicing sometimes.”

Charles gave him a look of confusion. “Where?”

“At the rec center.” Nathan cleared his throat, then looked around. “My mom makes me take ballet there.”

“Oh,” said Charles. Nathan raised an eyebrow.

“That’s all you have to say?”

“Well there’s nothing odd about that, a lot of athletes take ballet, especially soccer players. It builds stamina and co-ordination.”

Nathan looked surprised. “Really? I didn’t know that.”

“Isn’t that why you’re taking it?”

“Fuck no, my mom makes me go to piss my dad off. You’re sure athletes do that?”

Charles nodded. “Uh huh. It’s like trainers who take race horses swimming in the ocean. It’s the same thing – builds muscles and stamina.”

“Oh. Good. Now I don’t have to feel stupid if someone sees me. Um… you won’t tell anyone, will you?”

“Would anyone believe me if I did?”

“Good point.” Nathan glanced over his shoulder, the high school a vague yellow shape in the distance. “Hate high school. I’m gonna drop out.”

Charles gave him a look of surprise. “Why?”

“Because it sucks. I’m tired of the bullshit. The kid next to me in math class bust his ass just to get a ‘C’, and I screw around and get ‘B’s and ‘A’s because I play football. It’s not fair. And I don’t even like football.”

“Well what would you do if you could?”

Nathan glanced at him. “You’ll laugh.”

‘And get my teeth kicked in? Not a chance.’ “No I won’t. I promise.”

“Okay. But you better not. I wanna be a singer. But… that’s not gonna happen.”

“Why not?”

“Because I can’t fucking sing.”

Charles shrugged. “Well… you have an unconventional voice, granted, but there must be a type of music you can do. Not every band is Steve Miller or Air Supply.”

“Thank fucking Christ,” growled Nathan. “I like dark music, dark and heavy, and loud. Like metal. I like heavy metal.”

“Well maybe check out different kinds of metal music.”

Nathan gave him a look of surprise. “There’s different kinds?”

“Yes, well, there is heavy metal, speed metal, thrash metal, death metal…”

“Death metal?! There’s death metal?!”

“Yes. I don’t think many people have heard of it.”

“Why have you?! You’re like Little Lord Nerdlington!”

Charles shrugged. “I play guitar a little. I’m not very good. But I read trade mags like ‘Guitar Player’ and stuff.”

“AWESOME! Can I come over sometime and read them?”

Charles was a little taken aback, but pleased. “Okay.”

Nathan grinned. “Awesome. It’s funny what you learn about people when you just talk to them, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” said Charles quietly. “It is.”

Nathan gave the cat one last pat, and together they resumed walking. After a few minutes of treading down the sidewalks strewn with gold and red autumn leaves they reached Charles’ house, and Nathan returned Charles’ books.

“You want to come in?” asked Charles. “We can read magazines and talk about metal.”

Nathan shook his head. “Nah… I shouldn’t. I’m uh… kind of a jerk. I had uh…. like… exterior motives for helping.”

“Do you mean ulterior?”

“I guess, I dunno.” Nathan looked uncomfortable and shy.

“Well… what are they?”

Nathan cleared his throat. "I'll save you from bullies if you'll do my algebra and write my history paper... and go out with me..."

Charles just stared. “I’m sorry did you just ask me…?”

“Yeah. I uh… I think you’re cute.”

“I thought you were dating that cheerleader, Rebecca.”

“Yeah well I sorta was but... when you’re big mean and ugly like me you can sorta do whatever the fuck you want, I found.”

“And naturally I’m just supposed to fall into your arms.”

Nathan seemed to become defensive. “You can say no if you want, you don’t… you don’t have to date me, I won’t kick your ass or anything, I just meant… I don’t know what I meant.” He shuffled his feet. “But… would you?”

“Well it’s not like it would shock my parents, I’m pretty sure they know I don’t like girls.” Charles nodded. “Okay. But you have to let me wear your letterman jacket.”

Without complaint or hesitation, Nathan took off the jacket and handed it to Charles, who accepted it, drawing it close. It smelled vaguely of beer, cigarettes, and possibly perfume, it was hard to tell. Charles scuffed his shoes, looking down at the ground.

“You… sure you don’t want to come in?”

“Nah, I can’t, I have to do some stuff. But… can I come by in the morning and… walk with you?”

“Yeah. Okay,” said Charles quietly. “See you at eight.”

Nathan nodded, then turned and walked away, the autumn wind blowing through his black hair, the first few drips of rain falling from the cloudy sky. Charles smiled, hugging the jacket close and went into the house.

“CHARLES!” exclaimed his mother in horror. “Charles what happened? Are you all right? You’re black and blue, your glasses are ruined… look at your shirt! And your nose! Charlie are you all right?!”

“Fine,” said Charles, smiling.

His mother gaped at him in utter astonishment. “FINE?! CHARLES SOMEBODY BEAT YOU UP!”

“Yup,” said Charles, hugging the jacket and slowly dancing his way down the hall to his room.

Charles’ mother stared down the hall after her son, then looked at her husband. “Well are you going to talk to the boy?”

“Not me,” said Crozier, hiding behind his newspaper. “The kid’s been a fruitcake since the day he was born.”

***---***

At 8 a.m. the doorbell rang, and Charles practically ran his mother over beating her to the front door. He was wearing his school clothes – white shirt, red tie, and grey slacks with dress shoes. He had on his spare glasses with the tape around the nose, which only served to heighten his nerdishness, but at least they were in better shape than his other pair. He had his books in a bag, and was wearing a black letterman jacket with white trim, the number 94 on the shoulders, and the name ‘EXPLOSION’ emblazoned across the back.

“See you later mom!”

Charles’ mother watched as her only child darted outside to greet a big-boned boy with scruffy black hair and cold green eyes. The boy watched as Charles gleefully skipped up to him, and let him take his hand, then accepted Charles’ book bag, carrying it for him. Together they began walking away, heading for the school.

“Well there is good news and bad news,” said his mother to the form lurking behind a newspaper at the kitchen table. “The good news is Charles has a date. The bad news is we’re not getting grandchildren.”