Chapter Text
It’d been a wonderful few weeks at Dino’s. Private chauffeurs, meals prepared every day, a bed big enough to house you, Dino and whatever it was Enzo became when you accidentally ran him underwater.
You puzzle over that for a moment, having found the small turtle wandering around covered in dirt you’d thought to give him a quick wipe with a wet cloth you’d found on the maid's trolley. Only for the small boy to quadruple in size and begin snapping at everything in sight. It was quick thinking and a calm head that saved you, luring the oversized turtle to your bedroom where the gold wheelchair Dino had gifted you was promptly shoved into his terrifyingly dangerous jaws. The pressure of bite ricocheting through his body and sending him back to his original size. You weren’t going to say anything but the huge trails of broken walls and massive turtle prints crashed into the luxurious carpet were a dead give away.
Dino’s panic was as clear as day on his face when he checked you over with fevered worry. “You sure he didn’t hurt you? I’m so sorry!” He'd repeated over and over lifting up your arms, bending you –carefully- forward in your chair to check your back, brushing hands over your neck and pulling your shirt up to check your torso. You would have complained but his fleeting touches and genuine concern were as amusing as ever. You'd made a joke about Dino having done more damage to you with his clumsiness over the last few months than Enzo could ever manage. He’d got embarrassed about that. Remembering the time he’d sent your wheelchair scattering into the sofa, or the time he’d almost dropped you when you made the ill advised decision to kiss him mid carry.
You smile to yourself as you awkwardly load up the dishwasher in your small apartment. A habit you’d found yourself doing more and more often since Dino had started becoming something of a permanent fixture in your life. You catch yourself, forcing the muscles in your face back to a position that definitely isn’t a smile. You had a lot to do since slacking off for almost three weeks, and day dreaming about Dino wouldn't help.
That being said, you didn’t exactly say no when he called asking if he could come over. In the area, apparently. Because ever since Dino learnt where you lived it seemed he was in the area almost every other day. You grin when you greet him at the door, takeaway in hand and his usual smile beaming right back at you. The set up is simple. Dino can stay as long as he entertains himself. A premise that slowly morphs into, Dino can stay and cuddle as long as he doesn’t interrupt your work. That then quickly morphs into Dino can stay and cuddle and have your attention for ten minutes if he promises not to be a bother afterwards. The cute clumsy blonde's puppy eyes too effective for his own damn good. And that’s how you got here, on a night before practice and college snuggled up with the man you’re pretty sure is half puppy by the way he keeps nuzzling your head for attention.
You pry yourself from his chest momentarily to check your phone only for a sly hand to come up and distractingly stroke your chin. You give your lover a positive hum as you scroll through the basketball plays you’ve been sent by your vice captain, they’re good but they could definitely be improved. You’re mid way through replying when Dino's face slides down into view. “Captainnnnnn.” He sings, shoving your phone out the way with his face in search of kisses he’s one hundred percent not entitled to. Kisses he’s not entitled to, but you still end up giving as his lips press against yours and you feel all common sense fly out the window.
So, it was your own fault you were so tired after training. Suppressing yet another yawn as you wheel around collecting haphazardly strewn basketballs and chucking them into the caged basket in the middle of the room. Good practice you told yourself.
You’re so tired you miss the sound of the gym hall door opening, you miss the click of freshly polished shoes across the squeaky floor. It’s not until an unfamiliar voice calls “Herbivore.” that you realise you aren’t alone.
You turn your chair around and are greeted with a tall boy, maybe a little younger than you. He’s staring you down with a cold hard glare.
You size him up and decides he's one of two options. Either a confused citizen who’s wandered into the public hall by mistake and simply lacks the manners to ask for directions or a teenager who's decided to take their frustrations out on someone they perceive as lesser than. Given the level of hatred in his glare it’s most likely the latter. It wasn’t unusual for kids from the local high school to get the idea to tease or bully people in wheelchairs. But, coming to practice grounds was a bold move.
You brace yourself, ready to snap back at anything the kid tried. He couldn’t be older than sixteen, maybe seventeen.
“I’m going to bite you to death.” He says, his face darkening and drawing out what looks like two silver batons from under his school jacket.
This was new. Driving your wheelchair from behind, trying to tip it over, sticking things in the spokes were all standard, but weapons were a whole different ball game.
The violent stranger slips into an offensive stance and begins charging towards you. It’s only quick thinking that keeps you out of his attack. Picking up a nearby basketball, you aim and shoot for his stomach. It’s dodged but he has to divert to do so, and in that time you wheel round to the basketball cage for cover.
It’s not much, but as you hurl ball after ball his way the oncoming speed and number of basketballs quickly becomes overwhelming for the attacker as they bounce and ricochets at all angles. The more the strange kid blocks the incoming balls, the more violent the bouncing becomes until he’s having to dodge at all angles and take cover behind a stack of wheelchairs. You catch sight of him from behind the cage and note he looks pissed. Like really pissed. The noise of the red balls begins to fade, powerful energy bouncing and dribbling to little movement. You grab the last ball you have and wait.
“I didn’t come here to fight balls.” The boy remarks, and you try not to snicker too much at the phrasing. His voice is low and echo's around the now almost silent hall.
“Show yourself herbivore.” He shouts angrily, bracing himself with his weapon again.
“I have a name you know!” You shout back, not about to be insulted by a kid. The boy just smirks and turns towards your hiding spot, a fearsome glint in his eye that says he’s going to rip you limb from limb when he gets the chance. The lunatic lunges forward and you shoot the ball as hard as you can in his direction.
It flies past him, just grazing the maniacs side. He stops, a horrific smirk appearing on his lips as he tracks the movement to your now empty hands. “Nice try h-” He doesn’t get much further than that. The ball bounces off the wall behind him and hits him smack dab in the back of his head. The crazed boy goes down like a thick tree, crashing face-first on the scuffed shiny court floor. It’s a relief to see his weapon fall from his hands.
You work quickly, wheeling over and assessing the deranged kid. You pick his batons up and hide them under your seat. You decide his hands are probably safer tied up, but you don’t know how long he’s going to be out for and settle with trapping them in the breaks of your wheels. As long as you kept the breaks secure, he shouldn't be able to do much.
Taking a shaky breath, you pull out his phone and call the police.