Chapter Text
The nurse’s office was as horrific as he remembered it, his recollection of the previous day stabbing itself into his brain like the most traumatic of memories. He remembered how exposed he’d been, the abject humiliation of being stripped of his clothes and forced to sit there without any hope of dignity. It was appalling, it was horrific and it was disturbingly recent. It had only been the start of his troubles, as his now-stinking pull-up could tell anyone with eyes, and what was worse was the fact that none of it was his fault – at all.
“Get off of me!” Argo screamed, teeth stinging as he was held up in front of Mr Rippard, the bastard nurse who had fucked things up for him yesterday.
“Oh, so it wasn’t a one time thing?” Mr Rippard teased, taking in the sight of him in a dirty pull-up like it was something he saw every day.
Could it be…?
“It was you who did this shit to me! I know it was!” Argo screamed, “I fucking know it! I wouldn’t shit myself for no reason, it must be you, you sick fucking bastard!” he sobbed, a train of wetness seeping into his pull-up.
Suddenly, Argo could feel that something was wrong… First, a dribble came out, then he could feel it: his pull-up was leaking, The sheer unabsorbable quantity of liquid to be found would have been shocking in any other situation, but to a foul-mouthed boy like Argo, it was something he’d have to get used to.
The steam slunk down the leg of his trousers, creating a puddle on the floor beneath him as his trousers worked like a slide. Even the people restraining him let go, allowing him to collapse pull-up-first onto the floor.
Argo didn’t know if it was from the blood-loss or the horrible day he was having but he felt more pathetic than he’d ever done in his life. And he hated it.
“I went wee-wee!” he exclaimed excitedly by no will of his own, like something really was controlling him. This curse… Fuck, he’d never seen a curse so horrific before. He’d have taken the Curse of Constant Death if it meant he kept his dignity, his honour and his respect.
The nurse hummed, “I think that it would be very interesting if I could suddenly make people go to the toilet – it would certainly be useful as a nurse, a lot of people are very sick and might need to go really badly – but unfortunately I can’t and,” he laughed, “even if I could, I certainly wouldn’t use it on a boy I’d never met before yesterday.”
Argo balled his fists, anger pulsing explosively throughout his entire body. For a moment, he felt the desire to kill like an incoming truck, his eyes aflame with rage. But unfortunately, that horrible man made all too much sense, and he was forced to confront the reality that this was not the man he could hate.
Surely, there was someone out there he could blame for his horrific misfortune, in this world of powers and spells? No-one that he knew of, but then again powers were rare, those who admitted to having them rarer still.
Either way, he wasn’t apologising, even if it was embarrassing – his dignity had already been far too attacked. So, politely, Argo said “Can you get me a new change of clothes you assholes? I’m not standing here waiting to be seen!”
“Of course, Argo, but I’m sure the lovely strong people who work for this school would prefer to stay and watch you inside, if that’s okay, because while all little boys have big, big emotions, yours are a bit too big at the moment – you understand?”
Argo did not.
“Excellent! Well, why don’t we get you changed!” Mr Rippard decided, already opening a bag of wipes.
“I can do it myself! Argo insisted, “I’m not a baby!”
Mr Rippard hummed, “I’m sure you are, but unfortunately these things really are school policy, you understand? When a student is under Behavioural Lockdown, there are certain rules we have to follow, to make sure we don’t break anything, alright?”
Argo huffed, “I’m not letting anyone see me naked, you pedo!”
With that, he scrambled off but two arms grabbed him back.
“No, I don’t think you can be left to your own devices. Well, bring him in here, his parents have signed all the forms, you know?” Mr Rippard insisted, though he was fairly sure his parents would never sign a contract allowing him to be stripped naked by a member of staff of all people.
Still, two pairs of hands dragged him forward, threw him to the ground and pinned him down. Argo could do little to protest as his pee-soaked trousers were removed, then his gross pull-up.
It was a relief to have that disgusting, smelly thing off but as Mr Rippard and his two henchmen had a full view of his shit-stained penis, that came with a bittersweet feeling, his face marred with more red than just his blood.
After that came another hideous pull-up, just the same as yesterday’s. He wished to never see one of those horrid things again but by now Argo had realised that those odds were slim: in all likelihood, he’d be stuck wearing one tomorrow, like a fucking baby.
Changed, Mr Rippard’s attention turned to his mouth.
“How about we deal with that mouth, hmm? While we’re here,” he suggested.
Argo huffed, “It hurts like shit but I do not want you in my mouth, you creep,” he insisted, all too aware of the three teeth which had been forced from his mouth in one horrific act of violence.
“I’m sure that’s not true, hmm? I can get you a lovely wet paper towel and we can deal with all of this ourselves.”
Five minutes later, Argo had a wet paper towel in the bloody spots where he’d one had three teeth on the right side of his mouth. They seemed to be doing little else than soaking up the blood and hurting like hell but who was he to question an undereducated random person who probably had a degree in English or some shit and yet was allowed to give medical advice to kids?
At least he had trousers on, a clean pull-up and looked relatively normal, right?
With that, he was marched to the headteacher’s office, thankfully not the victim of yet another dragging. It seemed that he’d ‘calmed down’ enough to be allowed to walk, though it was clear that his two evil bodyguards were keeping keen eyes on him.
Eyes stalked him from one classroom door to the other, each peeking at where they knew a pull-up sat beneath his trousers. It felt like a walk of shame as he traversed the school, hardly present at all for sheer embarrassment. Argo wished he’d just faked some illness of other, got the day off and could go out skating or something. But no, his nutcase fucking parents or whatever was cursing him seemed to hate him.
Finally, he was stopped at a door on the second floor of the school, the smallest and most horrifying floor to be on. See, that was where The Office sat, the place that could make or break your entire school career based on a conversation, fuck up your social life forever and utterly ruin you. It was nowhere he hadn’t been before but before his curse, he’d felt a strange sort of equality compared to that evil bastard who sat on an ugly felt chair all day and bossed everyone around: if he could scream louder than her, he’d won. And what was another day at home, playing on his xbox while his parents bitched and moaned at him from downstairs?
But in his pull-up, Argo could only feel weak.
His shitty entourage knocked on the door patiently, obediently waiting for an answer as though they were subservient to the headmistress. It was quite frankly pathetic, a reminder to never get a job at a school or anywhere else where people seemed to get off on performative bullshit. Argo could think of nothing more humiliating than waiting after some pompous dickhead.
And lo! A creak groaned out from inside the room: “Come in…”
The voice was low, dull and the epitome of joyless. Its user had clearly gone 40 years without any joy in their life, spending a lifetime doing nothing but yelling at kids for no reason like some loser paedo. But unfortunately, Argo figured that for once he’d need to play nice, because the shitshow from only a few hours ago still haunted him like the ghost from that old haunted mansion on the outskirts of town.
Inside, thinned hair glared at him like he was its murderer, each hair plucked off by his cruel hands. Shaking hands clicked at a mouse, and Argo felt somewhat intrusive even standing there.
“Argo, a pleasure to have you back here once again. I can’t say this has been my favourite incident report to type, but it hasn’t been the worst, I will say…” she smiled, piercing eyes driving into him like a stake.
Argo hummed sarcastically, sitting down in his usual chair opposite, the wet paper towel still picking up more blood from his bleeding gums.
“Oh, no, we won’t have that…” she said, shooing him off, “I can’t have an accident ruining the nice fabric – these chairs are expensive, you see,” Ms Harrison grinned, teeth sharp and eager to insult. Oh, he could tell she was loving this.
Disgruntled, Argo glared back as he acquiesced, deciding instead to choose his battles in the shitty situation he now found himself in. This woman was someone he’d have to rely on to defend him, to stop assholes pulling his trousers down or whatever else a whole school of fools could come up with during his remaining tenure at his school.
“Alice was the one who told everyone – and those other assholes in my Maths class – get them in here!” Argo protested in advance, standing awkwardly above her.
Humming, Ms Harrison considered his words for a moment, then looked directly into his eyes: “See, you’ve been an, ah… difficulty, shall I say… for quite some time. This school has put a disproportionate quantity of funding into keeping you here and we haven’t been rewarded academically in return,” she divulged, offering no emotion other than mild contempt.
“...And, well, behavioural officers and strip searches cost money, you understand? Much less than a few packs of nappies, certainly – do you understand, dear?”
His eyes widened.
“You don’t mean…”
She nodded, “It’s such a shame that a boy with no prospects is going to lose all his social status, and with that the allies he can use to skip classes, to gang up on other people, to play troublemaker and clown… Very unfortunate. But, rules are rules, and we’ll be giving you one or two. See, Argo, if you want to stay at this school – and I’m certain your parents would rather you stay here – you’ll be required to wear nappies when on the school premises. Outside – none of our business. But, well, here, you’ll be under constant supervision to deter bullying and misbehaviour and also to change you when needed. This, I feel, will work out the best for all of us, and I’m glad you agree.”
“I don’t? I don’t agree, Miss… I think my parents would rather I leave this school than face all this- this bullshit!” Argo insisted, wetting suddenly into his pull-up.
“I- fuck!” he yelled, stomping at the ground as the flow continued, “I’m a fucking teenager, not a baby!” Argo complained, his pull-up rapidly warming. His cheeks, too, were warmed and discoloured, marking Argo a changed boy and a boy needing a change.
But Argo had run his mouth more than enough. In turn, his bowels suddenly began to contract and push out something which wasn’t there even a few minutes before. Groaning, grunting, whining, Argo squatted, thick lumps of poop driving into his pull-up, which sagged down like crazy.
He groaned some more – whether from the spine-chilling humiliation or the effort, it wasn’t clear – as his headteacher watched on emotionlessly, a thin smile curling upwards.
But all things must come to an end eventually and in turn, it wasn’t long before Argo was stood up, blushing and glaring as he tried not to stare down at his dreadful accident. His nose was in no capacity to ignore it, and he could tell that his headteacher couldn’t either, not as the stench overpowered the room.
Coughing, one of the security team grunts stepped away from him as though he was something so untouchably gross that nobody wanted to be around him.
“I think we’d better send you home – this is unsanitary, at least until the school – and your parents – can source some more scent-absorbant products to contain this problem. Well, off you go, dear,” she ordered strictly, shooing him once again from the room like he was a mere animal.
Stinky, humiliated and depressed, Argo could do nothing but comply as he squished from the room, trapped in his own smelly scent, the security team not daring to lay a hand on his smelly self again.
The walk to reception was something Argo couldn’t recall, even in the moment. It was like he was nowhere to be found as his memories desperately fought to remove themselves from long-term storage by way of never being there at all.
But in time, it was clear that Argo would have to become used to this humiliating state of affairs for as long as the curse lasted: a month, maybe more? More than anything, Argo begged whatever deities there were that it wasn’t permanent as his father’s car drove in.