Chapter Text
George has come to learn that America isn't that different from England.
It was just as populated as his home town, just as many, if not more, rude people to run into along the street, and way too many fast food restaurants. The only real difference was the hotter weather, but at least there was air conditioning to combat it. However they do drive on the other side of the road for some unholy reason. Besides that, it was just like England. At least it made the move a lot easier.
George and his mother moved to Florida a little over a year ago, at the start of his junior year in high school. The hardest thing was finding new people to hang out with. The brunet was never a social person, but he does keep in contact with a few close friends from his old school. Fortunately, he was able to befriend with three kids relatively quickly. Quackity, Karl, and Sapnap. They are quite the characters, each significantly different from one another yet they somehow share the same limited number of brain cells.
Opposites attract he supposes.
His mom was offered a raise from her company if she were to move to America. Like anyone, she was hesitant at first but when the company offered to pay for a significant amount of the travel expenses, she was sold one the idea. Of course the move was mainly for her, but she insisted that the new country would offer better schooling opportunities for George. He quickly came to find out that wasn't true but he couldn't care less. He never mentioned how the schools were just as bad as they were back in England. He knows his mom just wants the best for him and he appreciates what she does for him.
George shuts his locker and looks to his friends, tuning into their conversation just in time for Karl to finish a terrible “your mom” joke while Quackity hypes him up.
“That's the same one from yesterday,” Sapnap says while shoving his book bag over his shoulder. “At least I'm creative with my insults.” They make their way out of the front of the school, momentarily blinded by the bright sun. George is ready to get home and sleep.
“Well at least I didn't walk into the same joke twice in less than a day,” Karl insists. Sapnap brushes off the comment with a glare as he fishes the keys of his car out of his pocket.
“Who am I taking home today?” He asks, not looking back as he walks out to the center of the busy parking lot.
“Finally, it's my turn,” Quackity says with an exaggerated sigh before jogging slightly to catch up with the other noirette.
“See you guys tomorrow!” Sapnap yells over his shoulder.
“Can't wait,” George says sarcastically, trying not to be too loud. Sapnap heard his little remark and blows an kiss in his direction.
Sapnap being the only one who can legally drive graciously offered to take home one friend each day. All four of them lived in opposite corners around the school, making an almost perfect square if you were to look on a map. Each day, someone else gets a ride while the other two walk home. Sapnap said he would take all of them home if they lived closer, but they don't. Essentially he's too lazy to make the 25 minute round trip to all of their houses. Not that George blames him, though.
George and Karl walk out of the parking lot, stopping at the sidewalk before they part ways. As per usual, they remind each other of the homework due tomorrow and agree to share answers once they get home. With a simple wave, they part ways and head home. It's not a long walk, but it does get annoying in the muggy weather. His house just a past the train tracks and then a couple blocks down.
The train tracks.
There were four of them sat on some gravel alongside the main road, separated by a chain link fence. They were used for freight more than human transportation, meaning the big loud box cars came rolling down the tracks pretty often. It wouldn't bother him so much if he couldn't hear them at 3am in the morning when he was trying to get some much needed sleep. He didn't live directly next to the tracks, but close enough that they could wake him up if he isn't sleeping too deeply.
Regardless, he had to pass them everyday on his way home from school. Every now and then George would have to walk past the fence and try not to stare at the random crackhead tripping along the tracks and throwing a punch at whatever unseen enemy was in their way. Usually he wouldn't let his eyes linger but today was different.
There's a person was slumped over in between the tracks, unmoving.
He allows himself to stop for a moment and stare at the lump. He's quite far away, but from the sidewalk he could see a few cuts and bruises littering the person's arms. He continues to study the figure, fully aware that the drivers in the street probably think he's creepy.
He's pretty sure you're supposed to call the police when you find a random body, but he really doesn't want to deal with that. The figure looks, quite frankly, dead. It was a terribly unsettling thought but just as George started to walk away the figure moves. They shakily sit up, obviously struggling, and slide off a small backpack that the brit hadn't seen before. Once the bag was off, they plop back down with an audible noise of pain, gravel crunching as their back makes contact with the small pointy rocks.
In the little time the figure had sat up George could make out the features of a blond boy who couldn't be much older than himself. His hair was messy, sticking out in multiple different ways from under the hood of his dark jacket.
George is sure that he should turn and leave now. His mother wasn't home. She's away in New York for a trip, meaning if something were to happen he wouldn't have anyone near him. He knows he shouldn't go up to him, classic case of stranger danger, but something about the mysterious person being just a teenager made him sympathize.
And the guy's hurt. He looks like he can barely move, what's the worst that could happen? A lot could happen, George, his brain supplies him. He looks behind him at the street before walking to the opening where someone had peeled the chain fence from the post for some reason George probably doesn't want to know. I'm going to go over there, he tells himself, check on him, and then leave.
Who knows where the sudden burst of heroic energy came from but he starts to regret his decision as he gets closer. He checks the tracks, looking both ways more times than necessary before crossing. Soon enough he's standing besides the boy who, now looking closer, is definitely around the same age as himself.
Hearing the gravel crunch under George's shoes, the blond opens his eyes halfway, clearly in pain as he lets his eyes rest on the pair of legs standing next to him. There's a long, awkward pause before the unfamiliar boy shuts his eyes again. George scratches the back of his neck anxiously. Why the fuck did I think this was a good idea?
“I was just walking from over there,” George says, gesturing to the sidewalk even though the other isn't looking at him. “I'm just- I was... are you alright?” That's a dumb question.
The blond takes a shaky breath, wincing before opening his mouth. “Yes.” His eyes are still closed. “Doing just fine if you couldn't tell.” He looks like he's going to smile but ends up grasping at the side of his stomach.
George bites back a snarky remark as he looks the boy over, taking in the small scrapes. “Can you stand?”
“Probably,” he mumbles, finally opening his eyes again but looking away from George. “It'll hurt like hell though.” He sucks in a breath of air through his nose and pulls himself into a sitting position once again, his hood falling off the top of his head to reveal matted, bloody hair at the back of his head.
“That doesn't look good.” George points to his head. The boy touches the dark, dried liquid and sighs. He was being surprisingly calm for looking half dead. “Do you want me to call someone to get you?” The brunet didn't want to just leave him, but at the same time he doesn't want to deal with problems that aren't his. He rather quickly resolve whatever this issue was than get dragged further into it.
“No,” the blond answers bluntly and then stares up at George expectantly. After a confused look from George, the other throws out his right hand toward the brit, closing and opening it in a grabbing motion. Finally understanding, the shorter offers his hand and pulls him up, slightly embarrassed that he didn't get the message right away. For someone so tall, he didn't weigh much.
They stand for a moment, both unsure of what do do. Nothing could have ever prepared George for this situation. The taller seemed to try and stretch out his limbs but upon realizing it caused too much pain gave up with a huff. Figuring it would be difficult for the other, George bends down to pick up the backpack before hesitantly offering it to the boy. The latter grabs it but makes no moves to put it back on.
After no one says anything George turns around to head back to where he came from, assuming the other would follow. He doesn't look behind him but he's sure he can hear the other's footsteps. Once he's back at the chain link fence, he slips through and holds back the loose part so the blond could fit easier. He still hasn't put his bag back on.
“You're cut up bad,” George states. “Do you want me to call my friend? He can drive you to the hospital.” Sapnap insists on not taking more than one person home from school, but he knows that if someone really need help the raven-haired boy would drive over in a heart beat.
“That would just cause more issues.” George honestly couldn't care less, but he still didn't want to be a complete dick. He was just wanted to get rid of him. George looks toward the street and watches the cars zoom by, not wanting to stare. The taller unzips his bag and takes out his phone. “I ran away from home,” he says, prompting the other to look back at him. “I'm sure the hospital would send me back to my parents after they cleaned me up.”
“So you've got no where to go?” The blond boy nods his head dumbly and shoves his phone back into his pocket, probably upon seeing it was dead. “You really should have thought of that before leaving.” George shoots a glance at the path back home before meeting the other's eye. “My mother would be livid if I took a random person home.” He was met with an understanding hum. “But she's not home right now.” Light yellow eyes seem to gain a glint of hope. What the fuck am I doing? “I wouldn't normally do this but you seem to be my age and look half dead, I don't think you're too threatening.” George don't do this. There is probably a red flag somewhere and you're just too much of an idiot to see it.
“You don't have to,” he says, his slightly pleading tone betraying his words.
George stays silent for a moment. He can take it back now, before he commits. “You can stay for a night.” Too late. What if he's pretending? He could be some sort of serial killer. It's a slightly unreasonable thought but he doesn't exempt it. “Hand me your bag,” the brunet says, taking it from the other. “My house isn't too far.” George's voice is cool in his attempt to show little emotion when in reality he was somewhere between feeling sorry for the boy and being scared shitless. And wanting nothing to do with him yet being too nice to turn him down. He should have just walked away the second he saw him. “I'm only doing this because I'm a decent human being and don't want to be rude.”
“Thank you,” he replies honestly.
George doesn't respond, instead he leads the way back home. His mom would have him by the head if she found out about this, but she shouldn't be home for a few more days. This would be the first “bad” thing George has done. He tries not to get into trouble which isn't too hard when you're obsessed with video games and sleeping.
The blond trails behind him, obviously in pain. At least it creates space between them so they don't have to talk. They walk back to George's house, the other staying a good distance away from him the entire time, even when they stop at crosswalks. The brunet holds the unfamiliar bag to his chest since he already has his own backpack over his shoulders.
They continue in silence, their shoes occasionally scuffing the concrete. Once they enter George's neighborhood, he senses the old lady who always waters her flowers staring; more at the blond than himself. They reach his front porch and shuffle through the door, George dropping both their bags once they get inside.
“Well,” the brit says, glancing around the living room and stealing a look at the other. His clothes and skin were painted in a layer of dust and he smelled like dirt and oil, not the loveliest of scents. “You should probably shower and then we can take a look at your wounds.”
“You sure that's alright?” It was clear he was grateful for how kind George had been but didn't want to cause too much trouble.
“I don't really care.” Lies. He's starting to regret it now. “Follow me.” The boy leans ocarefully and grabs a fresh change of clothes from his bag before following George up the stairs, trying his best not to get left behind. George leads him to the bathroom next to his room and flicks the lights on but stays outside. He steps away, allowing the other to enter and keep the comfortable distance between them. “There's clean towels under the sink.” The taller nods, blond hair falling over his eyes as he does. “I assume you're hungry?”
“You really don't have to feed me, it's okay,” he says dismissively.
George ignores the statement. He was clearly hungry and the last thing he needed was a dead body in his living room by morning. “I'm making one of those shitty frozen pizzas, is pepperoni alright?”
“Yes, I'm not picky.”
“Alright, I'll be downstairs. We can wash your dirty clothes once you're done too,” he mentions as he leans into the bathroom to grab the handle of the door to shut it. Not too long after, George hears the water start running. He makes quick work of throwing the pizza into the oven and setting a timer.
It wasn't his normal time to be eating dinner but he can't imagine just awkwardly sitting with a stranger. In his house. Oh God. He really just brought a person off the fucking street into his house. His mom's house. He leans over the kitchen island, elbows propped up on the counter with his hands hiding his face. Why?
Of course the reality of what he had just done hits after he's done it. Why can't he just mind his own damn business? What part of him felt charitable today? He doesn't even share his lunch with Sapnap but he can take someone in for the night? He's really in for it now.
He takes a deep breath and stands back up to his full height. It's just one night. He can do it.