Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"Hey Deuce," Cleo greeted sheepishly to the back of the snake-haired boy's head. The taller of the two let out a sigh, lowering the cup he held in his gloved hand.

"Hey." He grumbled in reply, not bothering to turn to face the ghoul behind him.

"Deuce, you were right about the normies all along, I should've listened to you," She tried, chewing her lip anxiously at the lack of response from her now ex-boyfriend. "I just—"

"Wanted to please your dad?"

Cleo paused, staring up at the gorgon who had yet to turn and face her. "Yes," she muttered in reply, blinking in surprise as the boy finally turned away from the table.

"Cleo, I love you,"

She seemed to perk up at these words, though the tone of his voice hinted that there was more to be said.

"but I can't keep doing this."

Cleo's shoulders slumped. She opened her mouth to speak but Deuce beat her to it.

"What you did.." he shook his head in distaste, "I understand how your dad can be, but..." his gaze shifted from Cleo to the plastic cup clenched in his left hand. "You need to take accountability for your actions. You can't just shift the blame on your family every time something like this happens."

"Deuce—"

"You should have seen the fear in his eyes, Cleo." His green eyes narrowed behind his red-framed shades as he pointed his free hand towards the DJ booth near the center of the room. "He could have died—and you had every chance to keep things from getting to that point!" The gorgon exclaimed, waving his hands around for emphasis.

Cleo averted her gaze, lowering her head in shame at Deuce's words. He was right, and there was no argument she could make to prove him otherwise.

     Deuce was beyond angry, but the sight of Cleo so uncharacteristically timid caused him to falter. Despite the party surrounding the pair, there was a long uncomfortable silence that encapsulated the two. It was not until Deuce finally spoke up again that the uncomfortable silence had finally been broken.

"Look, I'm not..." Deuce bit his lip, fumbling once again with the plastic cup held in his hand. "I think we need a break."

Cleo's eyes widened, but before she could get a single word in, Deuce interjected. "Some time to... work things out." He tried to reassure with a sheepish shrug, though Cleo did not look relieved in any sense.

     Another lapse of silence fell amongst the two, but after Deuce remained staring at his checkered sneakers for what felt like an eternity, he lifted his head once again and let out a gruff sigh.

     "I've gotta go," he muttered, setting the cup aside as he raised his other hand to rub the back of his neck. He gave Cleo a short glance before he brushed past her and went on his way, leaving her with no time to respond before he was lost in the crowd.

Chapter Text

     Holt wakes up with his arms and legs restrained, prompting him to frown as he makes an attempt to sit up from the cold, metallic surface that he lays against. He grunts, gritting his teeth when he finds that he cannot actually sit up. His eyes widen at the blaring screeching of the aged, rusting metal clanging together just inches above his head which allows him to quickly realize where he is and what's happening. The boy thrashes against the restraints confining him to the death trap menacingly titled The Trick or Treatment. He screams and cries, fighting with all his might until his efforts are useless and before he can think of anything else to do, the jagged, pointed edges of the withered machine sink deep into his flesh.

     Holt instantly jolts awake with a loud shriek, scrambling out of his desk at a speed that sends him straight to the floor; a show for the whole class to watch. He does not waste a single second though before scrambling to his feet, brushing the invisible dust from his t-shirt and straightening his red leather jacket before he's left to stand awkwardly at his seat, making direct eye contact with the older gentleman who had been covering for music theory that week.

     He still hadn't caught the guy's name, just kinda referred to him as the short old guy with the big white beard and hair—but that was beside the point. Holt shakes back into reality, taking a brief moment to glance around the room and cringe at all the eyes glued to him. "Could you take your seat please mister, uh," the older man leading the class takes the roster from his desk, squinting a moment before glancing back up "Hyde?"

The blue boy ignores the hushed snickers and whispers sprinkled throughout the class as he moves to take a seat, his face going hot with embarrassment as he scrambles to gather his things after taking a quick look at the clock near the door.

     It's only a matter of moments before the bell rings signaling for class to be over, thus prompting Holt to instantly rise from his seat and nearly climb over his own desk to get to the door in time. He lets out a huge huff in relief as he manages to be the first one out the door, not pausing even for a moment when he hears a familiar voice calling after him.

     "Holt—Wait!" A mint green-skinned girl held together by stitches shouts, rushing after the red-head who bolts through the students gradually filling the halls. He's almost in the clear when all of a sudden he reaches a dead end; a hall closed off for maintenance. He tenses for a moment, struggling to quickly come up with a plan of escape, but before he can even turn around, he feels a firm hand land on his shoulder, causing him to whip around with wide eyes in surprise.

"Hey!" The green-skinned ghoul greets, though her friendly smile falters at the sight of Holt's uncharacteristically panicked expression. Normally, this is a face she'd find Jackson sporting—he is quite the jumpy fellow—and Holt is always the exact opposite.

     "Is everything okay?" She loosens her grip on Holt's shoulder, tilting her head to the side with a look of concern.

     "Yeah." He grumbles, shrugging her hand away as he averts his gaze from the ghoul's blue and green eyes.

     The green girl takes her hand back with a frown, furrowing her brows quizzically as she examines the boy before herself. "Holt, what's going on? Did something happen?"

     "I uh," Holt glances around uncomfortably, fidgeting with the orange strap of his backpack slung against his shoulder. Then all of a sudden he looks right back up at her and straightens up, the uneasy look on his face nowhere in sight "You know what? I gotta go to the bathroom, like, really bad. I've been holding it in, like, all morning." He affirms with a nod, quickly moving to brush past her as he begins to walk away.

He pauses a moment before turning to face her once again. "I'll catch you later, Frankie-Fine." He states with a wave and a bit of a forced grin before turning back around to head off on his way, his smile instantly faltering as he rushes off on his own.

     Frankie blinks in surprise, watching the blue boy with an arched brow in confusion before she moves to follow right after him. Something is not right, she thinks to herself, brushing her black and white streaked hair behind her ear as she follows in Holt's path.

     Considering the next class was Jackson's, Holt figured he could at least try to move on from whatever that mess was from the last period and stay on schedule. However, just as he reaches their shared locker, he catches a glimpse of none other than Frankie Stein herself in his peripheral vision, which forces him to divert from the locker and rush to the nearest bathroom.

     It's almost like a game of cat and mouse between the two as Holt struggles to pick up the pace without looking suspicious while Frankie trails right behind him eyeing his every move. After what feels like a century long marathon, Holt finds himself rushing into the first bathroom he can set his eye on, not even bothering to look back as he rushes towards the nearest stall and immediately locks the door. He drops his bag and sinks against the metallic wall of the stall, letting out a huge sigh he didn't even realize he was holding in up until this point.

He raises his hands to his head, running his fingers through his red-orange hair as he takes a moment to just breathe. The bell indicating the start of the next class startles the boy, causing him to jump at the sound. He stares down at his backpack on the tiled-floor that certainly does not belong to Jackson. He groans in frustration, mentally noting yet another tardy due to the fact that he can't stay on schedule. The school may as well give him an unlimited tardy pass at this point. He drags his hands down his face with a tired sigh, pulling his phone from his pocket and leaving a quick message for his counterpart.

late for rotter, sorry :(

Chapter Text

      Deuce picks underneath his fingernails, slouched against his desk while he waits impatiently for class to commence. Every couple of seconds or so he'll lift his head and scan the class for a shorter kid with dark brown hair and glasses. Every time he sinks back into his desk with a groan before going back to aimlessly picking at his nails again. It's not long before the tardy bell rings, prompting Deuce to sit up with a displeased frown, glancing around all over for his friend, and shifting uncomfortably when he remains nowhere in sight.

About five minutes pass and the boy is yet to arrive to class. The green-eyed boy chews his lip anxiously, using the time the teacher takes for attendance to shoot his friend a quick text.

     hey man, everything alright?

     "Gorgon?"

      Deuce's head shoots up and he quickly shuts off his phone, setting it aside as he raises his hand at the call of his name. He keeps his gaze focused on the black screen of his phone, anxious for a response. His eyes dart towards the entrance of the class when the door creaks open and a pale, dark-haired boy enters the class, adjusting the collar of his black t-shirt with a displeased frown.

     "Jackson Jekyll, you're late." The sandy-haired older gentleman sporting a brown coat scolds with a disapproving scowl on his greenish-grey face. "You must make your way to the attendance office and—"

     "I've got it right here, sir."

      Jackson mutters shamefully, fishing through his pocket before pulling out a neatly folded slip of paper and handing it to the instructor. The man snatches the paper with a lingering frown, narrowing his eyes as he scans the slip. The boy watches uneasily, shifting his weight from foot to foot as he awaits eagerly for a response.

     After what feels like an eternity, the teacher sets the slip on his desk, gesturing towards the empty seat residing beside a boy with bright green snakes for hair.

     "Take your seat, Mr. Jekyll," the teacher instructs, receiving a short nod in response from the timid young man who scurries off to his desk.

     "I will meet with you after class."

     Jackson pauses before forcing another nod accompanied by a defeated sigh. "Yes, Mr. Rotter." He simply states, setting his bag on his desk as he moves to take a seat beside the gorgon eagerly awaiting his arrival.

     The shorter of the two tries to ignore the eyes burning right through him as he quietly takes his things out for class, his face flushing with embarrassment.

     "Hey, everything alright?" The snake-haired boy whispers, giving his friend a small nudge. Jackson only offers a small nod, chewing silently on his lip as he opens his decomposition notebook to the next clean page. He uncaps a pen and begins to copy down the words written on the large, dark green chalk board at the front of the class.

     Deuce examines his friend with a concerned frown. "Why were you late?" He prods, tapping his pencil on the edge of his shared desk.

     "Holt got distracted." Jackson mutters sternly, not daring to remove his eyes from his work. Meanwhile, Deuce blinks, noting the unsmiling tone to the boy's voice before deciding to back off and focus on his own notes for the class.

☯︎

     Deuce walks into third period with a small frown tugging at his lips, unable to get that grim tone of Jackson's voice out of his head. He figures the guy had a bad morning, but a small part of him ponders whether something bigger could have come to play. Before he can think much more on the subject, a friendly voice catches his attention, prompting him to glance up from his desk at Frankie who quickly approaches him as he takes his seat.

"'Sup, Frankie." He greets with a short wave before proceeding to unzip his backpack.

     "Hey, you had Jackson last period, right?" Frankie inquires, prompting Deuce to respond with a slow nod, a curious brow raised as he opens his book set on his desk. "Was he off or anything? Holt was acting really weird this morning and I know you two are good friends, so I just wanted to check in." The green ghoul rambles, fidgeting anxiously with her hands as she speaks.

     Deuce pauses for a moment before shifting in his seat to face the girl.  "Well, he was late to class, and he wasn't really in the best mood if I'm being honest," he explains with a shrug, leaning back against his chair, "I kinda just assumed that was because of the whole being late to class thing," he waves his hand in the air near the end followed by another shrug. "What, uh, happened with Holt?"

     "Oh." Frankie blinks, glancing around before pulling up a seat. "Well, as crazy as it sounds, he fell asleep in the middle of class. Music theory of all classes too," she says with a small snicker towards the end though the smile displayed across her stitched face is more weary rather than amused. Deuce only blinks, yet to move from his laid back position in his seat, "it was really weird—I honestly didn't even know he was asleep until he woke up screaming and fell out of his desk."

     The gorgon frowns, wincing with second-hand embarrassment at the sound of such a thing. "Jeez... was he okay?" He asks with an unnerving tone, shifting in his seat as he rubs the back of his neck.

     Frankie shrugs, brushing her hair behind her ear, "not really..." she admits, her forced smile faltering as she rubs her arm uncomfortably. "I tried catching him after class but he was, like, running away from me—then when I finally got ahold of him he wouldn't tell me what was going on and he ran off again." She explains with a shrug and a frown, looking back up at Deuce as she fidgets idly with the stitches in her arm.

     "Huh. Weird." The boy replies, letting out a sigh as he sinks back against his chair, gazing off thoughtfully as he mulls over the situation.

     "Do you think you can try talking to them? Maybe figure out what's going on?" Frankie pleads, leaning a bit closer as she speaks.

     "I mean, uh," Deuce moves to sit up again, an uncomfortable frown grazing his lips as he glances over at the ghoul beside him. "I dunno, things have been weird since, you know..." Frankie nods understandingly, folding and unfolding her hands in her lap. "I just haven't really been able to get a lot out of him lately." Deuce simply states with another shrug, "Holt doesn't really talk to me at all either." He admits, leaving Frankie's shoulders to slump at his words.

     The two fall silent for a brief moment before Deuce perks up. "Don't worry though, Frankie," he assures, setting a gloved hand on her shoulder, "I'll make sure to ask what's going on—they're probably just having a bad morning. I'm sure they'll be back in rhythm by lunch."

     Frankie offers a smile, but before she can say anything else the bell rings signaling class has begun, forcing her to stand from her borrowed seat and set it back in its place. "Thank you so much, Deuce." She says with a wave and a grin before returning to her designated seat in the class.

☯︎

     "So... how's your day been?" Deuce questions, leaning closer to his lab partner who carefully pours some yellow-ish substance into a beaker. The human boy glances over at the gorgon for just a brief moment before focusing his gaze back on his work.

     "Fine, I guess." Jackson mutters with a shrug, watching carefully as the liquid fills the container. "What's the next one?" He asks in a monotone voice, eyes flickering to the other chemicals displayed before the two on the desk.

"The, uh," Deuce squints at the sheet of paper held in his hands before looking back up at the numerous glass jars and vials containing colorful materials.

     "Deuce?"

     "How do you even say this?" The gorgon grumbles in annoyance, holding the paper to his friend who only rolls his eyes after one look at the list, quickly picking a small jar from the collection before them.

     "It's the orange one, remember? We took notes over these on Monday." The human boy explains, pouring the amount required into the beaker before setting it aside.

     "Oh, right." Deuce replies dumbly, glancing away as his face burns with embarrassment. He's never understood how Jackson could pack all that information in one head. Especially with all the trouble and memory loss that comes with his dual-nature.

     Jackson glances over at Deuce for a moment before moving back to his work. "You can borrow my notes if you want, I color-coded the chemicals this time," he offers kindly, using a free hand to push his glasses up as he sets the used jar aside, "might make it easier to understand."

     "Thanks, man, you really don't have to though," the taller of the two assures, adjusting the paper in his hands.

     "I don't mind helping you," Jackson simply replies, "what's next?" He asks, glancing over towards the list, tapping his finger idly on the desk as he awaits the next instructions.

  "Oh, the, uh, green one," he instructs with a nod, pointing towards the container. Jackson wastes no time grabbing the substance, adding it to the mix with precision. "Then it says to stir for about a minute or so—until there's no more particles of the, uh...orange."

     "Gotcha." The human boy replies, doing as he's told with ease.

     "So..." Deuce begins, chewing his lower lip for a moment before continuing as he shifts in his seat. "Did you get in trouble with Mr. Rotter?" Jackson shakes his head, although a faint frown grazes his lips. "Why'd he call you after class then?" The gorgon questions, his brow raised curiously.

     "Told me if I got another tardy I'd have a week's detention and would be assigned some ridiculously lengthy essay," Jackson explains with a roll of his eyes and a small wave of his free hand.

      "Well jeez, man, I'm sorry." Deuce replies with a frown.

      "It's whatever," Jackson mumbles with a sigh, continuing to stir the contents of the glass beaker. "What's next?"

     Deuce points to the next substance, watching quietly as Jackson pours it in with their mixture. "How's, uh, Holt doing?"

     Jackson raises a brow at the question, giving Deuce a look before turning back to the beaker. "I dunno." He mutters with a shrug, mixing in the next solution before setting the used container aside.

     "Do you know if anything happened with him today?" Deuce asks, leaning a bit closer as he speaks.

     "No?" Jackson mumbles, staring at Deuce like he grew a third arm. "You know we can't just—" He shakes his head with a sigh, "what's the next one?"

     Again, Deuce points to the next substance, and Jackson continues with the project. "Well, I mean, have things been off at all lately? Like, nothing happened today? Or like—recently?"

Jackson shifts uncomfortably in his seat, throwing Deuce another look before slowly shaking his head. "Can you just keep reading off the list for me?"

     "Yeah, sorry." Deuce replies with an awkward frown, scooting back into his chair a bit to give the guy some space. "It's just—Frankie told me that Holt was acting weird today." The gorgon tries to explain, straightening out the list as he begins to check off materials they've already gone through. "He hasn't like... told you anything about what happened?"

     "No." Jackson responds sternly, not even bothering to look at Deuce this time as he glares impatiently at the beaker. "What's the next chemical?"

     "This one." Deuce mutters, handing Jackson the next vial. He's quiet for a moment, proceeding to observe as Jackson continues to pour in the chemicals. He wonders briefly if he's being a little too pushy about this whole thing. Then again, Jackson's been radio silent in regard to anything that's been bugging him lately, and as his friend, Deuce feels that he should be allowed to know what's going on in Jackson's life. Especially when it's making him and even Holt act weird. "You know, you can tell me if there's anything going on, man."

     "Can we please just focus on the assignment?" Jackson replies, looking over at the gorgon with an uncomfortable frown before taking the paper from Deuce's hands. "We only have a few more," he notes, setting the paper back on the table. "I think class is ending soon too," He adds, shifting in his seat slightly as he waits for the next instructions.

     "Yeah, uh, sorry about that," Deuce mumbles with his face flushed with embarrassment. He proceeds to list the last three chemicals, allowing Jackson to proceed with the assignment. Things are just beginning to settle down again as Jackson moves on to the last chemical when all of a sudden Deuce's phone goes off.

      Normally, this would only cause the device to vibrate against the table and Deuce could shut it off immediately, however, the snake-haired boy seems to have forgotten to set his phone on mute, so it catches the two off guard when loud music blasts through the speakers of the iCoffin laid out on the desk.

     Jackson almost instantly jumps at the sound, not even thinking when he drops the vial he holds in his hand, jerking forward and knocking over the beaker with their solution, spilling the liquid all over the desk, and soaking their worksheet listing the instructions in the process. The very second his hands are free he slaps them over his ears, but it's no use. Deuce scrambles to shut off the music, but before he can get the chance, Jackson is suddenly engulfed in flames.

     In only a matter of seconds, his dark hair fades to a bright red, and his once pale skin becomes a vibrant blue. An intricate black symbol forms along his left cheek bone, spreading upwards towards his forehead as the ends of his canines begin to sharpen. Lastly, the blues of his eyes are replaced by a blazing red with speckles of fiery yellow. The blaze dies down just as soon as it arrives, leaving a very confused Holt wearing Jackson's clothes standing in his place.

     Deuce finally manages to shut off the ringer, leaving the class in an awkward silence that forces Holt and Jackson to switch again. Jackson instantly stumbles forward, the bottom of his shoe crunching the broken shards of glass scattered across the floor. He squints his eyes and blinks hard as he attempts to focus his vision, holding himself up against the table as he struggles to ground himself.

     Deuce almost instantly leaps up, grabbing Jackson as he begins to tip to the side. "Jackson! Jesus Christ—I'm so sorry! Are you okay?" He sputters, keeping a firm hand on the human boy's arm in order to keep him held up. Jackson stirs slightly, wincing as he raises a trembling hand to his temple.

     "What happened?" He groans, still squinting as he struggles to adjust to the fluorescent lights of the classroom. It's only a matter of moments before Jackson begins to tie things together just by grasping his surroundings; the discolored liquid coating the surface of the desk and drizzling down onto the floor to mix with the shattered pieces of the vial. Not to mention the dozens of eyes glued to the pair from all around the classroom, along with the hushed snickers and whispers. His eyes slowly widen as he begins to straighten up. "Oh no."

     "Jackson I'm so sorry—I swear I didn't mean to."

     "Meant to what—?"

     "What are you two standing around for? Get to cleaning!" A larger man with a gruff voice demands, straightening his stained apron over his torso as he glares down at the two standing in their mess.

     Jackson pushes away from Deuce's hold, nodding obediently as he moves to begin picking up the glass from the floor.

     "You two better be here after school if you want to make up for this..." the instructor shakes his head in disgust, "mess."

     "Sure thing, Mr. Hack." Jackson responds, keeping his head bowed in shame.

     Deuce only nods, his face red with embarrassment as he crouches down to help Jackson with the glass, struggling to disregard the multiple giggles and remarks riddled throughout the classroom. "I'm so sorry." He mutters, but the shorter of the two keeps his head bowed, refusing to look at the gorgon before him.

Chapter Text

     Holt exits his last class of the day rubbing the exhaustion out of his eyes. He tucks his iCoffin into his pocket after switching to a different playlist as he makes his way down the hall towards his locker. He slings his orange backpack against one shoulder before he reaches to pull a lime-green one from his locker, grabbing it by the handle as he clangs the metallic door shut.

     The red-headed boy sighs as he scans the instructions on his phone left by his other half.

     "Mr. Hack."

     Holt reads aloud, scanning the halls with squinted eyes before taking a step forward. He tries to keep from dragging the green backpack on the floor as he treads along on his way, figuring his whole mishap from this morning was enough trouble for one day. That, and he doesn't have the energy to deal with an angry Jackson. Plus, telling by the tone of his last message, the human boy was already in a foul mood.

     It's not long before Holt finds himself squinting at the room number outside of Mr. Hack's classroom, but it's not until he looks back and forth from the number listed on his phone screen and the one displayed on the aged stone wall before him that he can determine he is in fact at the right place. He does however take quick notice of the fact that the lights in the classroom are shut off, and his immediate response to to begin aggressively twisting and turning the stock-still doorknob that doesn't budge even in the slightest.

     He crosses his arms with a pouty frown painted on his face, his brows furrowed as he gives the door a glare before rolling his eyes and moving to lean against the wall. He turns the music up on his headphones to a ridiculously high volume, slowly sinking down onto the floor where he sets down the two backpacks in his possession on the floor beside himself.

     It's not long before Holt is scrolling aimlessly through his phone with the screen held no more than an inch away from his face, yet despite the distance—rather, lack thereof—between his face and the phone, he still squints at the lit up images displayed on the screen. He chews his lip absent-mindedly, rocking his head slightly to the beat of the music blasting through his headphones as he waits impatiently for the teacher to show up. A small part of him wonders if Mr. Hack was going to show up at all and if this was just Jackson's way of getting back at him for making him late to his second period.

     He does look kind of stupid just sitting here against the wall.

     He peers up from his phone at the thought, surveying the hall for any onlookers—or purple-haired ghosts snapping any pictures while he was off guard—though there seems to be no one in sight. However, when the blue boy glances to the right he happens to spot a familiar figure slowly approaching him. He quickly averts his gaze, gluing his eyes to his phone again as the blurred figure grows nearer.

    "Hey, uh, Holt," the voice greets, prompting Holt to glance up at the taller boy from where he sits against the wall.

     "Hey, Deuce."

     The gorgon looks around before shoving his hands in his pockets, "Hack's still not here?"

     "Nope."

     There's a moment of hesitation; the snake-haired boy sporting a pair of checkered Vans grows silent for a moment.

     "Welp," he breathes out a short sigh before moving to sit beside the red-headed boy on the floor. "Guess we'll wait here."

     "Guess so."

     The taller of the pair taps his fingers on his knee, watching the hall with a small hum before turning slightly to shoot Holt a short glance. "So... are you doing alright?"

     Holt turns to face his company, his brow raised as an amused smirk grases his lips. "Yeah. I'm doing great." He scoffs with a toothy grin and a roll of his eyes before shaking his head as he turns back to his phone.

     Man, these two really aren't talkative today.

     The snakes on the other boy's head squirm and hiss as he looks away with an embarrassed frown. He chews his lip for a moment, fidgeting with the thick black bracelet embroidered with a skull on his right wrist. Then he pauses. He turns to Holt again with his brows furrowed thoughtfully. Despite the fact that Holt happens to be wearing headphones, the music is loud enough for him to hear—to recognize. "Hey, uh, what're you listening to?"

     Holt perks up at this question, straightening up a bit as he switches between apps before handing the phone to Deuce.

     "It's a song called Boogie," he begins, an excited grin present on his face as he moves to face the gorgon completely. "I really like it—it's probably one of my most favorite songs from these guys," the red-haired boy explains, pointing to the album art displayed on the screen.

     "Huh. I think I've heard of them—they sound familiar," Deuce replies with a hum, examining the screen thoughtfully.

     "Here," Holt begins, turning up the volume on his headphones before resting them around his neck. "Can you hear better?" The shorter of the two asks, scooting close enough to where their shoulders touch.

     An amused smirk appears on the gorgon's face at Holt's sudden enthusiasm. He nods to the question and leans a bit closer to get a better listen. "Yeah, I think I've heard this one before," Deuce admits with a slow nod, "I like it—I've been meaning to get more into them though."

     "I can send you a playlist to kinda help you get into them," Holt offers, not really waiting for a response before he takes his phone back and begins constructing the said playlist, "They've got a ton of albums out already, so there's plenty to listen to," Holt blabbers on, that grin practically super-glued to his face as he rambles excitedly. "What other stuff do you listen to?" He asks curiously, sparing the gorgon a short glance before returning to his task at hand.

     "Oh, there's a few bands I've been into, can't really list them all—I can send you a few songs if you'd like." He offers with a shrug.

     Holt perks up again with a frantic nod, "Yeah! I'll listen to them right away—you should send me as many as you can," the blue boy insists, taping a few buttons on his screen before he shuts the iCoffin off and drops it in his lap.

     In less than a second, Deuce's phone vibrates in his pocket, prompting him to fish it out. The snake-haired boy blinks in surprise when he's faced with a notification from Jackson's number. "Wow. You're quick." Deuce remarks with a chuckle, adding the playlist to his phone.

     Holt offers a smug grin and a shrug. "I make them all the time, after a while it's just kinda become, like, second nature or something."  The fiery-eyed boy explains, shifting against the wall as his gaze switches back to Deuce.

     "Man, you know, I had no idea you were so into music." Holt admits, tapping his fingers on his knee, "I figured all of Jackson's friends would be weird and hate music too."

     "Well, I don't think he hates music, I think it's just kinda hard to find joy in it when he can't always be sure he'll be around long enough to actually hear it." Deuce shrugs sheepishly.

     "I dunno—I mean, I know he can listen to some music—but it's just weird, you know?" Holt exclaims, leaning back against the wall with a huff as he folds his arms over his chest. "I can't imagine living without music."

     Deuce examines the boy quietly, an amused smirk tugging at his lips at Holt's over-the-top exaggeration about—well, just about everything. He's always known Holt was a bit... sporadic, but the way Jackson describes him makes the guy out to be some sort of out of control, frenzy of a monster. The fiery-haired guy seems to have his shit together. He's just a bit excited is all.

     "You know, I have a theory," the blue boy interjects the gorgon's thoughts, straightening up against the wall, "that the reason why he's so grumpy all the time is because he doesn't listen to music." He states proudly; as if his claim were some sort of major scientific discovery.

     Deuce offers a snicker and a roll of his eyes, "Aw, c'mon, dude, he's not always grumpy."

     "You aren't denying that he does get like that sometimes, though." Holt counters with a shit-eating grin.

     "Well, yeah—but you've never been all 'grumpy' yourself? I mean, I get grumpy sometimes too, you know."

     "You make a good point." Holt relents with a sigh, sinking against the bumpy surface of the wall as he furrows his brows into a thoughtful scowl.

     "That's not to say that music can't make people feel better sometimes though," Deuce offers with another shrug, "I've seen him listen to music before, but he's got other things that make him happy too."

     "I wonder if that means it'll change again." Holt mutters thoughtfully.

     "What'll change?"

     "The trigger. We went to a doctor or something a little while ago and he said that since we're still young, the switch can change again before we're adults." Holt explains, the thoughtful expression yet to leave his face.

     "Huh. I'm surprised you two showed up."

     The two boys look up to see Mr. Hack towering before them, arms folded over his wide chest.

     "Wasn't the, uh, other one supposed to be here?" He asks, pointing a finger down to Holt as he scratches his chin thoughtfully.

     "Oh, uh, yeah." Holt nods, though his shoulders slump at the finger jutted in his direction. The red-haired boy lets out a dejected sigh, glancing at Deuce for a brief moment before shutting off the music with a frown. His fingers twitch and he drops the iCoffin in his lap. He hunches forward with a wince, his jaw clenched and his eyes squeezed shut before his body is engulfed in blue-tinted flames.

     Mr. Hack is entirely unphased, leaving the two (or three?) to gather their belongings while he unlocks the door and enters the class.

     Deuce scoots away to give the guy some space, looking away with a discomforted frown. It never really is a fun experience watching the two switch between one another. He waits a moment before moving to stand, giving his friend some time before holding out a hand to help him up.

     Jackson groans, rubbing his face and blinking a few times as his eyes adjust to the room. He frowns down at the band t-shirt that certainly isn't his own, then reaches for his backpack and grabs his glasses case before putting the pair on. He takes Deuce's hand with a quiet "thank you," but proceeds to lean against the wall for a moment as he settles back into reality.

    It's not long before the two have entered the class, leaving them to proceed with the assignment for the second time today.

    "Try not to take too long, evening classes start in about an hour." Mr. Hack warns as he takes a seat at his desk.

     The boys nod as they approach their shared desk, setting their belongings aside to prepare for the assignment.

     "Hey Jackson," Deuce begins, grabbing a set of beakers from the counter. "I'm really sorry about earlier—I thought I had my ringer off—and I was being really pushy."

     The shorter of the two shakes his head, "it's okay, man. Mistakes happen—and I know you wouldn't have left it on on purpose." Jackson assures, grabbing the last couple of vials and beakers from the counter as they begin to walk back to their desk.

     "You're probably like the only person in the whole world who wouldn't forcefully cause us to switch without asking for permission first." The human boy comments as he sets the beakers on their desk.

     "Well... I'm gonna make sure that doesn't happen again—and I'm pretty sure reading off the list will be a lot easier a second time around." He comments with a sheepish shrug, receiving an amused eye-roll from Jackson as a response.

☯︎

    After hitting play on the bluetooth speaker set on his desk, Holt sinks into his wheeled desk chair, letting out a long sigh as he drags his hands down his face. He leans his head back, shutting his eyes for a brief moment as he soaks up the music filling the room.
     He blinks when the music pauses for a split second and is replaced by the sound of an alarm. The blue boy winces, faltering for a moment before reaching to grab his phone and shut off the alarm, grunting slightly when the music pauses for a half second before resuming.

    "Shit—I almost forgot," he mutters to himself, tucking his iCoffin in his pocket before rolling over on the chair to the short book stand near his desk displaying an aquarium tank. He grabs a small box with holes poked through the lid before grabbing another container and uncapping its lid. He then removes the lid from the small box revealing about a dozen crickets crawling around a cut out chunk of an egg-carton. He proceeds to shake a small portion of the contents held within the container over the critters, coating them with a thin layer of white powder.

     Holt hums along to the music playing through the speaker as he takes a pair of tweezers from the shelf and then moves to stand in order to remove the top of the tank.

     "Hey Crossfade!" He greets with a grin, peering down at the orange chameleon with yellow stripes that climbs up a thin branch towards the top of the tank. "You hungry? I got you some crickets," he says with a smile, using the tweezers to begin placing the crickets into the tank. It's not long before the redhead shuts the tank and sets the small box aside, watching in awe as the small reptile hunts for his dinner.

     He straightens slightly however at the sound of his door creaking open.

     "Jackson?"

     "He's not in right now, you wanna leave a message?" Holt remarks, plopping back in his desk chair before turning to face a pale woman with dark hair in the doorway.

     "Oh, music, should've known," she retorts with a roll of her eyes, playfully slapping her forehead as she enters the room. "Jackson said he had to stay after school earlier—was everything alright?" She asks worriedly taking a seat on the edge of his bed.

     "Oh, yeah," Holt replies, his tense shoulders softening slightly as he leans back in his chair, fidgeting with his hands in his lap, "just some assignment he had to make up or something—no big deal," he assures with a nod.

     "That's good—I would've gotten back to you two sooner, but I got held up at work again and—" the older woman pauses her rambling to take a deep breath, pushing up her glasses to rub her eyes.

     "Hey," Holt rolls his chair closer, reaching out for the woman's free hand, "it's okay, mom. You were busy," he shrugs, "I know how it is." He assures with a warm smile.

     Ms. Jekyll drops her other hand and adjusts her glasses before facing her son with a tired smile. She raises a hand to gently cradle his cheek, brushing her thumb along his cheek bone before pausing, a small frown returning to her lips.

     "You look tired, Holt. You two having trouble sleeping again?"

     The blue boy is quick to shake his head, his gaze averting as he shrugs. "Nah, I'm fine. Promise."

     The dark-haired woman frowns, lowering her head slightly in an attempt to catch his gaze. "Are you sure?"

     Holt nods, though he shifts uncomfortably, refusing to lock eyes as he bounces his leg on the floor, chewing on his lower lip.

     "Holt, you can tell me if there's something wrong."

     He remains silent, gently nudging his mother's hand away as he sits back in his chair. "I'm fine, mom. I would tell you if there was something wrong."

     Ms. Jekyll folds and unfolds her hands anxiously in her lap, watching her son uneasily as he moves to stand from his seat and grab his red jacket from the floor near his closet.

     "Where are you going?"

     "I should probably take crossfade out before the sun goes down."

     "Right." She nods, though the frown is yet to leave her face. "I'll leave you to it, then." She responds quietly before standing from the bed and then leaving the room, shutting the door behind herself.

     Holt watches the door long after she leaves, continuing to chew on his lip despite the copper taste that fills his mouth.

     What even is there to talk about? Halloween?

     Holt winces at the thought, but then he quickly shakes his head, tightening his grip on the jacket clenched in his hand.

     What good would that do anyways? Just remind everyone how reckless and irresponsible I am? Give mom another reason not to trust me over Jackson?

He pauses at the faint scent of something... burning? Almost like a flat iron left on for too long—

     "Shit!" Holt exclaims, dropping his jacket on the floor. He quickly waves his hand in the air in somewhat of an attempt to cool it off before grabbing the jacket from the floor and quickly searching for any burn marks. Nothing too noticeable but if you look close enough you can see the faint damage to the material.

     He groans with a roll of his eyes, moping over towards his bed to collapse against the mattress with a groan.

     He sinks into the covers, squeezing his eyes shut with a huge, pouty frown displayed across his face. He opens his eyes however at the sensation of his phone vibrating in his pocket, prompting him to roll over and squint at the notification displayed across the screen.

     hey man just checked out the playlist and im loving it so far
     maybe u can send me some more stuff when u get the chance

     He quickly sits up when he reads the contact name, a wide, toothy grin instantly replaces the huge frown that was on his face only seconds ago.

     glad ur liking it!! u shud probably message me on critter tho so our convo won't get mixed in with urs and jacksons
     also i can def send u some more beats if ur interested!! jus gimme a sec :D

     Holt stands from his bed and scurries over to his desk to grab his headphones and makes quick time of plugging them into his phone. He shuts off the speaker and moves back towards his bed and lays back against his pillow while he begins searching through his saved music.

     hey i also wanted to ask bc i noticed u and jackson have been kinda down lately, is everything going alright with you two?

     Holt's excited grin instantly falters when he reads the message. He stares at the text with a blank expression, his fingers hovering pointlessly over the keyboard as he struggles to come up with some sort of a response. He slowly moves to sit up, a dejected frown slowly taking over as his shoulders begin to sag.

     He continues to stare at the message as his vision begins to blur, though he doesn't bother to wipe his eyes even as warm tears begin to trickle down his cheeks. He clenches his quivering jaw before abruptly moving to unplug his headphones.

☯︎

     Jackson stirs awake with his eyes burning and his nose running. He winces slightly as he slowly moves to sit up, rubbing the tears from his eyes with an unsure frown. He raises a brow in confusion when he finds himself in bed with Holt's clothes on and Holt's headphones around his neck. He blinks in surprise however when he finds the headphones unplugged, then he narrows his eyes at the time displayed on the screen of his iCoffin.

     It was only 5:30pm and Holt still had another two hours before they were supposed to switch out again.

     Jackson sniffles and rubs his eyes against his sleeve, groaning as he wipes his nose against the back of his hand before unlocking the phone. He blinks in surprise seeing that Holt had been talking to Deuce, but seeing that the last two messages were sent to Holt's Critter account, he almost instantly exists the app. However, he pauses at the message. He brings the screen closer to his face, squinting at the blurred letters, and then he pauses. He lowers the screen from his face before he lets out a sigh and silently exits the app.

Chapter Text

     After shoving Jackson's backpack into their locker, Holt slams the black metallic door shut with a glum sigh. He stares at the door looking just about ready to head home for the day, but school hasn't even started yet, and he made a point to skate to school rather than take up on his mom's car ride offer in order to meet up with Operetta before class.

     The redhead sighs again, turning away from his locker as he begins to make way towards the main hall of the school. He strolls through a long hall of lockers before passing the entrance of the school. Then he stops dead in his tracks at the sight of a familiar face only a few feet before him.

     Before Deuce can even think of what to say or do, Holt is immediately twirling around and speed walking in the opposite direction, holding the straps of his backpack with a death grip.

     His heart thumps in his chest at a breathtaking rate, and if he wasn't preoccupied with running away from the gorgon tailing him through the halls, he would probably wonder if he was dying of a heart attack.

     How the hell am I supposed to meet up with Operetta  now?

     Holt wonders to himself, glancing back at the darkened hallway sprinkled with students. Despite the students littering the halls, it's nearly impossible to miss the boy with vibrant green snakes for hair, prompting the blue boy to scurry faster.

     Holt then proceeds to take a sharp turn into the next hall, his eyes lighting up at the sight of the short stairway leading towards an aged moss-green door. He glances back, narrowing his eyes in search for the gorgon practically hunting after him before whipping back around and making a b-line straight towards the door.

     He swings the door open with a loud "creeaaaak!" and then slams it shut. The redhead hunches forward, holding himself up with his hands on his knees as he lets out a huge breath he hadn't realized he was holding in until now. He straightens up for a moment, still panting with squinted eyes as his vision adjusts to the darkened atmosphere of the catacombs which contrasts greatly with the fluorescent lights of the school.

     He glances back at the door, venturing closer to peek out the small tinted window in the door just in case he had been followed.

     "Hey there, sugar,"

     "Ah!" Holt yelps, jumping at the sudden sound and quickly spinning around to face the darkness before him. He presses himself against the door as his wide red-orange eyes frantically search the empty black that makes up his eerie cave-like surroundings.

     A slim figure emerges from the shadows; an average-height girl with her hands on her hips, the short sleeves of her worn concert-tee revealing an intricate sheet-music inspired tattoo along her forearm that leads up to her shoulder. As she steps into the brief portion of light seeping through the window, her pale violet skin becomes visible, as well as her wavy red locks accented with black streaks tied back into a ponytail.

     On the left of her pale violet face, she sports a black monocle-like mask that resembles a mixture of a heart and an eighth note decorated with white details emulating a spider web-like pattern. Underneath the mask, however,  is a mole on the left side of her lower lip as well as a poorly hidden birthmark that swirls along nearly the entirety of the left side of her face, spreading down along her neck to her collar.

     Her blood-red lips quirk up into an amused grin at the sight of Holt's frightened demeanor. "If I had my eyes closed, I'd assume you were Jackson," she jests with a chuckle, gesturing towards the blue boy pressed up against the wooden door.

     Holt instantly straightens up, dusting off his half black half white hoodie with an embarrassed flush burning his face.

     The girl peers past his shoulder through the small window. "What's got your feathers all ruffled? Someone chasin' after you?" She asks curiously, the amused grin yet to leave her face as she approaches the boy with intrigue.

     "No." Holt blurts, his eyes averted as he shuffles away from the door.

     The girl hums, turning back to holt with a thoughtfully raised brow. "What's goin' on with you? Somethin' buggin' ya'?" She questions, playfully nudging her elbow into Holt's side.

     The blue boy simply shakes his head and fastens his grip on his orange backpack straps. "I'm fine, Operetta. We should probably head over to the studio though before we run out of time." He states in an uncharacteristically stern tone, prompting the redheaded girl to eye the boy unsurely.

     Holt knits his brows. "What?" He bites out in annoyance, bearing his jagged, pointed teeth.

     "You're actin' weird, that's what." Operetta snaps back with her arms folded across her chest and a ruffled expression mirroring his.

     Holt only rolls his eyes and lets out an agitated huff before walking down the path, prompting her to follow behind.

     She stares at Holt the whole way down to her makeshift studio. She wonders if the torches lining the stone walls could reveal whatever it was that was bugging her friend.

     Maybe he was bitten by some sort of parasite that was making him act weird?

     Maybe him and Jackson switched around and they're trying to cover it up?

     Operetta shakes her head.

     No, that wouldn't make any sense. Jackson's always been awfully polite, this anger Holt's presenting is all his own.

     This behavior sort of brings her back to their first date way back when, where the fiery boy instigated a fight with some guy who had accidentally bumped into her at a concert. They ended up getting kicked out of the venue and even though he took her home just as she requested, Operetta didn't talk to him for over a week—even after he sent her a dozen dead roses.

     Clearly things worked out though if they're still able to hang out as friends. Operetta knows Holt isn't a bad guy. Sure, the guy has a few issues, but who doesn't? She knows he's working on them and that's the most a ghoul could ask for. However, she isn't too sure this behavior is something she wants to be around, especially when she knows where things could be headed.

     Operetta unlocks the door to her studio and flicks on the dimmed lights, walking over towards the desk placed in the corner and taking a seat on the top. Holt looks around for a moment before slowly approaching the other end of the desk and setting his backpack on top of it. There's somewhat of a troubled look on his face as he begins digging through the crumpled papers and randomly scattered pens bent into odd shapes stuffed in his bag.

     "What's goin' on with you, man?" Operetta breaks the awkward silence filling the air.

     Holt lets out an annoyed sigh through his nose and continues digging through his things. "Nothing. I already told you."

     "Then why are you actin' like I did somethin' to ya'?" She states in annoyance, crossing one leg over the other as she turns to face him, "You could at least tell me what's goin' on with you."

     "Well, nothings goin' on with me, okay?" Holt mimics with his brows knit again, still fishing through his things.

     Operetta scoffs. "Are you serious?"

     Holt finally pauses his searching to glare up at her with an angry frown. "Yes. I'm serious." He bites out through gritted teeth.

     The girl frowns, folding her arms across her chest with narrowed eyes. "You're really not gonna tell me?"

     "I don't wanna talk about it."

     "Hah! So there is somethin' goin' on!" She retorts with a proud grin, pointing at Holt with an accusatory finger.

     Holt rolls his eyes with another angry huff, pushing Operetta's hand out of his face as he returns to digging through the bag.

     "Is it Frankie?"

     "No."

     "Is it Jackson?"

     "No."

     "Is it... Deuce?"

     ...

     "No."

     Operetta raises an amused brow. "You hesitated."

     "No I didn't."

     She narrows her eyes again as she examines the boy thoughtfully. "I saw you two hangin' out yesterday, maybe you would've seen me if you wore your damn glasses." She scolds playfully, though Holt isn't moved in the slightest. "Did somethin' happen with him?"

     Holt groans in annoyance, looking back up at Operetta, very much over this conversation. "It's not about him, okay?" He finally admits, "I just don't wanna talk about it, that's it."

     Operetta thinks for a moment, humming thoughtfully as she taps her chin. "Is it about what happened yesterday?"

     Holt looks back up with quizzical expression that reads what happened yesterday?

     "In music theory?" She states as if it were obvious.

     In all honesty, so much happened yesterday, Holt can hardly even remember the fiasco that started the whole mess. So, as soon as he's reminded, his face flushes and he averts his gaze with a swift shake of his head.

     "Just drop it." He warns in a quiet grumble.

     "Not until you tell me what's going on." She states firmly, quietly noting the hesitation at the mention of his whole freak out in their first period.

     What on earth could be bugging this guy that keeps him from talking about it? By this point they would be laughing and fooling around about whatever nonsense had been plaguing him, but Holt has kept his mouth relatively shut this whole time, and she'd be lying if she said it wasn't starting to worry her. She thinks for a moment before her eyes widen.

     "Is it about Halloween?"

     "No!" He barks, slamming his fists on the table, thus causing Operetta to jump. "Why can't you just fucking drop it already?" Holt shouts, banging his hands on the desk with brows furrowed angrily as he finally falls off kilter.

     "Holt—"

     "No! Seriously! What is your damn problem?" He snarls, moving closer as Operetta stands from the desk. "There's nothing wrong, okay? So why do you keep prodding? Why?" The boy shouts, backing Operetta against the wall.

     By this point, the two are close enough to where their noses are only an inch from touching. Operetta is left at a loss of words, gawking helplessly at the upset boy as he glares down at her against the wall.

     "Do you think it's funny? Is that what it is?" Holt growls, clenching his fists at his sides.

     Operetta narrows her eyes. "Why would I think it's funny?" She shoves Holt back, finally giving herself some space to breathe, "I didn't even realize how serious it was—"

     Holt groans, turning to kick the desk out of frustration, causing it to jostle against the wall.

     "Stop it." She orders sternly, stepping away from the wall with her brows knit and a straightened stance.

     Holt turns to face her with a glare, leading to the two of them engaging in a short, angry staring contest. He then blinks and a tear trickles from his eye, forcing him to frantically wipe it away as he quickly turns away from the girl facing him. His jaw quivers as he moves to grab his bag and he wastes no time before storming past Operetta and rushing straight through the door.

     She stands frozen in place, stunned by what just happened. A part of her yearns to chase after him, but considering how he had just lashed out, she knows for a fact that things would be better off if she let him go on his own.

     Holt sniffles and blinks hard, frantically rubbing his eyes as he struggles to pick up the pace in fear of the possibility that Operetta was following him. He rushes out of the catacombs as quick as he can manage, lowering his head as he reenters the school. He dodges any onlookers or mumbled remarks as he heads straight for the nearest bathroom. He storms into the first stall and slams the metallic door shut, immediately dropping his backpack onto the ground as he struggles to catch his breath. He huffs and pants as he holds himself up against the door of the stall, clenching his jaw until a sob sneaks past his quivering lips.

     He reels his fist back and punches the wall of the stall out of frustration, cursing as he leans back against the discolored tiled wall. He drags his hands down his face with a groan before he sinks down to the floor. He blinks hard, biting down on his lower lip as he struggles to contain himself, but all he can think about is the grinding metal blaring in his ears as chips of rust sprinkle over him like snow. It's almost like he's there again; confined to the cold metallic surface of the machine.

     The blue boy shutters at the image so vivid in his mind, frantically reaching for his backpack from across the confined stall and hugging it close to his chest as some form of comfort. His heart bangs in his chest like a mallet, feeling as though it were seconds away from beating straight through his damn chest.

     The cool autumn air casts a recurring breeze that sends a shiver down his spine. The crowd of people cheer enthusiastically at the machine only inches above his head.

     "No," The boy muffles into his bag, reaching up to tug at his red-orange hair. He squeezes his eyes shut, shaking his head in an attempt to steer the memory away. However, it's no use, because no matter how many times he shakes his head or squeezes his eyes shut, the memory remains prominent in his mind.

     Then the dam breaks. 

☯︎

     Holt hardly catches the first bell signaling that the first period of the day was starting, but by the second time it comes around, it causes him to jump in surprise. He stares up at the ceiling with fresh tears and snot streaming down his face, his back against the wall with his bag still hugged close like a teddy bear.

     "Shit," he mutters, quickly moving to stand as he grabs a wad of toilet paper and wipes away the tears and snot coating his face, dropping it in the toilet before exiting the stall. He sniffles hard, rubbing his burning eyes against his sleeve. He glances left and right before letting out a sigh of relief when he finds himself alone in the bathroom. He makes an attempt to try and wash off his face, hoping maybe he could somehow conceal the evidence that he had been crying for the past half hour because people pointing that out was the last thing that he needed. For all he knows there would probably be an article about it on the Ghostly Gossip just to put the cherry on top of this shitshow of a week.

'DJ Holt Hyde has a Creeperific Meltdown in the Boys Bathroom!'

     He rolls his eyes at the thought, splashing cold water on his face and grabbing a fistful of paper towels to wipe it all dry before tossing the ball of damp, crumpled paper into a bin. He gives himself one last look in the mirror and frowns. His hair is matted, he has black smudges around his eyes that only accentuate the dark bags around them, and despite the cold water, his face is still all puffy from crying. In other words: he looks like a total wreck. Maybe he should just play sick and head home for the day. However, he's only adding more and more tardies to his and Jackson's high school career, and stressing Jackson out with more absences will only make things worse for the both of them.

     Holt raises his hands to rub his eyes again, letting out a shaky sigh as he adjusts the headphones settled around his ears. He cranks up the volume a smidge, hoping maybe it could somehow brighten his mood. However, with the horrific image of the night that took place only a couple weeks ago still fresh in his mind, he finds it kind of hard to just flip the switch on his emotions.

     The blue boy makes his way towards the door, swinging it open and—BANG!

     Holt stumbles back with a pained groan, rubbing his forehead in an attempt to ease the blossoming pain. "What the hell—?"

     "Close your eyes!" A familiar voice orders, and Holt obeys.

     A few seconds pass before he receives the OK to open his eyes again, revealing the familiar voice to be none other than Deuce Gorgon frantically adjusting his red-framed shades. Holt's brows knit at the sight, and he grits his teeth angrily.

     "I'm so sorry—are you okay?" Deuce asks urgently, stepping forward with a look of concern, but Holt doesn't buy it. Instead, he lets out an angry huff and brushes past the gorgon and storms out of the bathroom with his hands firmly gripping the straps of his backpack slung across each shoulder.

     He doesn't have time for this. He needs to get to class and—

     Holt comes to a sudden halt when some unknown force grabs him by the backpack and pulls him back.

     "What the hell?" He growls, whipping around with a deadly glare to see Deuce standing right before him.

     "What happened? Why are you so upset?" If Holt wasn't so blinded by rage, he would note the sincerity in Deuce's tone—but he doesn't. Instead, Holt grabs Deuce by the collar of his red hoodie and yanks him close.

     "Don't you ever touch me." He snarls angrily through his jagged, pointed teeth, glaring right into the gorgon's eyes—well, more like shades—before using his full force to shove Deuce back into the wall of lockers behind them, making a loud CLANG when he collides with the metallic surface. Holt doesn't waste a single second before turning around and storming straight towards the exit of the school.

     He doesn't have time for this. He needs to get out of this place before he does something absolutely ridiculous. So, that's what he does; he exits the perimeter of the school and decides to head straight towards the skate park near his neighborhood. It should be relatively vacant since it was a school day. Maybe he could find some space to just breathe for a damn second.

☯︎

     Holt keeps a steady pace on his journey exiting the perimeter of the school. He keeps a firm grasp on his backpack straps in some sort of an attempt to hold himself together.

     At least if he focuses on keeping a tight grip on his straps he won't have to think about what just happened with Deuce, and how Deuce was actually really nice yesterday... and how Deuce is also really good friends with Jackson so he would probably end up telling Jackson about what just happened...  and then Jackson would get upset and probably whine about it to mom... and then Holt would get in trouble because obviously Jackson is the golden child who can't EVER do ANYTHING wrong... which is why she always just has to take his side REGARDLESS of the scenario.

     Holt pauses his walking to loosen his grip on the straps, slumping his shoulders as he lets out a tired sigh.

     Deuce won't say anything.

     Holt assures himself, glancing back at the ancient school in the distance. He bites his lower lip nervously, fidgeting with the straps before forcing himself to face forward again and straighten up his stance.

     He was in the wrong anyways.

     The redhead assures himself with a firm nod, beginning to resume his walking with his gaze set straight onward.

     I mean—who just goes and grabs people when they clearly  don't  wanna talk?

     He huffs and pouts, narrowing his eyes as the moment replays in his head.

     "He's just lucky I didn't do more than throw him outta the way." He grumbles to himself with an annoyed roll of his eyes.

     A small part of him does regret his actions though. Maybe Deuce really did mean well and those darkened shades get the better of his vision... so he just couldn't tell he wasn't in the mood... or something.

     Holt shakes his head.

     Maybe that small part of him getting all mushy is Jackson seeping through the cracks. So, he should just crank up the volume some more—loud enough to where the whole neighborhood can jam out to the music blasting through his headphones. At this rate, it's a miracle the boy hasn't suffered permanent hearing loss. He pulls out his phone from his pocket and frowns at the image presented on screen informing him that the volume was already raised as high as can be, leaving the boy to frustratedly shove his phone back into his pocket and continue to storm onward.

     I mean, it's no wonder Deuce and Jackson are friends. They have to have at least  something  in common—and if it's not music, that thing is probably actively working against  me !

     Holt groans, raising his hands to tug frustratedly at his hair before folding his arms tightly over his chest like a pouty toddler.

     Why else would Deuce act like he actually cares about how I'm doing? It's probably just Jackson trying to get answers from me—and I have nothing to hide!

     He continues to trudge forward, glaring straight ahead as he kicks a small pebble out of the way with the rubber toe of his worn, black Converse.

     Even if he did care, how the hell does he expect me to respond? How would  anyone  feel after having to—

     The boy comes to an abrupt halt when his shoe collides with a larger yet lighter object on the ground, causing the hollow object to skid across the pavement before him. He lowers his headphones to rest around his neck, a brow raised curiously as he takes a wary step forward, curiously inspecting the object on the sidewalk.

     Across from Holt lays a sun-damaged, orange pail in the shape of what seems to be a...

     The very second the realization hits the boy, his fiery-red eyes widen and his heart sinks to the very pit of his stomach.

     Pumpkin.

     "No," He mutters, slowly backing away as he raises his trembling hands to place his headphones over his ears again.

     If the shape of the small basket wasn't enough, the chipped paint resembling the eerily familiar face of a Jack-o'-lantern was certainly more than enough to send Holt running in the opposite direction.

     He takes a sharp breath, shoving his hand into his pocket in an aimless attempt to raise the volume of the music on his iCoffin.

     Flashes of the haunting painted face leaves Holt frantically shaking his head in an attempt to shoo the image away. He pants heavily as he struggles to keep his cool. The longer he thinks of the dreaded pail, the harder it is to avoid the vivid image of the monstrous contraption inching lower and lower towards his head until—CRUNCH!

     "Ah!" Holt screams, scrambling backwards to stare wide-eyed at the crumpled branch crushed across the pavement. He gasps for air, struggling to catch his breath while his heart races about a million miles an hour. He glances back as if the machine were following him, and though there is little to nothing to be seen, he makes it a point to quickly step over the branch and run further from the Trick or Treat basket far behind him.

     Holt runs as far as he can for as long as he can, eventually crossing some random street along the way in order to avoid heading back in the direction of the school. He's far too focused on getting as far away as possible from that stupid basket to even notice that he has absolutely no idea where he's going. He keeps a steady pace for about fifteen minutes before eventually holding himself up against a nearby tree to try and catch his breath.

     The boy huffs and wheezes frantically, leaning heavily against the tree as his rapid breathing gradually begins to slow. After what seems like forever, Holt takes a moment to scan the area around him, narrowing his eyes at the foreign road stretched out before him. Orange and yellow leaves lay scattered across the aged black of the road, and if he hadn't just spent the last handful of minutes running for his life from a Trick or Treat basket, he'd probably find the scenery calming. However, the image of an ancient, rusted machine threatening to tear him to pieces is still fresh in his mind, causing him to shutter in fear at the memory.

     Holt looks up and down the vacant road, noting the absence of cars, as well as stupid baskets lying around—

     I mean, who just leaves their dumb baskets lying around places? Why'd you even get it in the first place if you're just gonna go throw it on the ground somewhere?

     Holt rolls his eyes, crossing his arms as he sinks down to the damp ground with his back against the tree. Something about the unfamiliarity of this place tells him that he was considerably far enough from the school. Thus, he gives himself the OK to sit and rest for a moment. Maybe he can catch up on that breathing he'd been trying to do since his encounter with Deuce.

     He sticks by the tree for a good while before venturing off to wherever the road takes him. He decides to play it safe and lift his hood over his head, shoving his blue hands in his pockets as he lowers his head, taking a deep breath before stepping forward. He carefully surveys his surroundings, admiring the earthy tones of the moist dirt beneath his shoes as well as the accents of vibrant orange speckled amongst the towering trees on each side of the road. It's actually quite calming; much less alarming than the stupid basket he had found back near the skate park.

     Holt ventures through the foreign road that seems to go on for ages. Maybe it's just Holt's subconscious that's eager to find the positive in anything that doesn't remind him of October, but the air seems fresher on this side of town. Maybe it's all the trees towering over him like skyscrapers. It makes it easier to just breathe; easier to let go of all the ridiculous worries and troubles infesting his tired mind.

     In all honesty, Holt finds himself so lost in the uncertainty of this calming place that he begins to lose track of how long he's been gone. He doesn't focus on the music blasting in his headphones; and he doesn't bother to skip songs or switch up playlists to keep things fresh. If anything, the music acts as an idle breeze passing by, hardly drifting his focus from the tranquil scenery that surrounds him.

     The boy is so caught up in the scenery that he almost forgets his phone in his pocket, which is why he jumps in surprise when it begins suddenly vibrating, the ringer interrupting the music playing through his headphones. He winces at the blaring noise, grunting slightly as he fumbles frantically with the device in his hands.

     He blinks in surprise when he's informed that the time is 4:27 PM; school had ended almost half an hour ago. Then his heart stops at the contact name displayed on the screen.

     Mom.

Chapter Text

     "What were you thinking?"

     Holt slams the car door shut and sinks into the passenger seat of his mom's car.

     "You could've gotten hurt,"

     He rolls his eyes, glaring down at his sneakers with a frown.

     "or... or lost! What if you got kidnapped?"

     The redhead stifles a grin at the notion, silently rolling his eyes again as he leans back into the seat.

     "Did you take Jackson's things? Do you even have his glasses?"

     Holt shakes his head with a sigh, turning to face the window in an attempt to escape his mother's lecture.

     "He needs those to see, Holt! How is he supposed to do anything if he can't see? And could you imagine all the work he could've missed today?"

     The boy gives another quiet roll of his eyes as he moves to slouch against the car door. He raises the volume on his headphones, gazing out the window at the bright orange leaves sprinkled throughout the side of the road. His mother's chattering becomes nothing but white noise as he soaks up the peaceful view offered by the scenery outside the window.

     It's not long before the woman in the driver's seat turns to see Holt entirely unfazed by her words. She tightens her grip on the steering wheel, fighting the urge to just rip the damn headphones right off the kid's head as she struggles to keep her gaze focused on the road. The dark haired woman straightens her glasses, taking a deep breath before letting it out in a slow sigh. Nothing good would come from her losing her cool on the road. They would just have to settle this dispute back at home.

   Sooner or later, the pair pull into the driveway of their home. Holt doesn't waste a single moment before hopping out and rushing straight inside, refusing to face his mother as he races towards the front door. The woman lets out a tired sigh, dragging her hands down her face before practically chasing her son into the house.

     "Where do you think you're going?"

     Holt pauses halfway up the stairs, though he keeps his back facing his mother who stands at the end of the staircase.

     "We are not done here," She calls after the boy, "get down here right now." She orders sternly, pointing to the ground beside her as if it would strengthen her command.

     Holt lulls his head back with a dramatic groan before turning to glare down at his mother with an agitated frown. She glares daggers right through him, forcing him to stomp down the steps and face her with his brows knit and a pouty frown.

     "Living room. Now."

     Holt plops onto the sofa, sinking back against the cushiony surface as his mother moves to stand before him, hands on her hips almost as a forewarning for the scolding that was to come.

     Oh boy...

     "What were you thinking, Holt? Walking out of school like that? Something could've happened to you guys!" She reiterates her concern, worry riddled through her expression, "Why on earth would you just walk out like that? You have responsibilities, Holt!"

     Holt rolls his eyes with a huff, folding his arms over his chest as he glares off to the side. He could already tell where this was going.

     "You owe it to both yourself and Jackson to fulfill those responsibilities; he does his part and you do yours—but you aren't even doing yours!"

     He doesn't say a single word; he just keeps his gaze set on the far corner of the room, far too bristled to actually face her.

     Of course, it's always about Jackson. Why can't she just tell me I'm the worst and move on? She's just wasting her time.

     Ms. Jekyll frowns at the lack of a response from her son, taking another deep breath as she removes her glasses to pinch the bridge of her nose. "I don't understand what's going on with you, Holt. You were doing so great not that long ago. You had your schedule and you two were talking—does Jackson even know about what happened today?"

     Holt shifts uncomfortably, his bitter expression yet to falter.

     She takes the lack of response as a no. "You know better than that! You can't just go around doing things without letting him know first—what if he had plans? What if there was a test or—"

     "He didn't have anything to do!" Holt interjects with his arms tightly folded over his chest, brows furrowed as he glares up at his mother. "All he needed to do was go to a few classes! And if he's just sooo amazing and smart then he'll be able to figure out whatever the hell he missed tomorrow." He grumbles angrily, sinking back into the couch as his fiery gaze diverts to the other side of the room.

     "That isn't the point!" She exclaims, throwing her arms in the air before running her hands through her hair with a frustrated groan. "Jackson always tells you where he's going and what he's going to do—why should you be exempt from that?"

     "God—He's just a perfect little angel isn't he?" Holt snarls, waving his hands in the air as if to accentuate how ridiculous her argument was.

     "That's not even what I'm saying—you can't just keep shifting the blame onto him, Holt. Take responsibility for your actions!" She corrects, shaking her head disappointedly.

     "Well... maybe you should quit blaming me for everything!" Holt protests, "I skipped school once. Once! It's not gonna kill him!"

     "How would you like it if he did the same thing to you?" She retorts with eyes wide in disbelief.

     Holt just rolls his eyes and sinks back into the couch, wondering when the hell this stupid argument would end.

     "You know, it's like, ever since Halloween, you've only gotten worse." Ms. Jekyll begins pacing, her arms crossing as Holt tenses at her words. "You aren't communicating as much, your grades are starting to slip, and now you're walking out of school—"

     "Are you fucking serious?" Holt snaps.

     "Excuse me?" She quickly turns back around, staring at her son as if he had grown a third arm.

     "No!" Holt begins, quickly standing from the sofa, "You... You're sitting here acting like... like I committed a mass murder or something! Like I'm just acting out or whatever the hell you wanna call it!" Holt sputters, pointing an accusatory finger in her face before waving his arms around for extra emphasis on nearly every word. "I'm... I'm not even doing anything that's crazy—my grades have never skyrocketed like his—but they're fine! And that doesn't even have anything to do with..." Holt bites his lip, hesitating for a moment, "you know what. I skipped class for one fucking day and now all of a sudden I'm just a horrible villain out for everyone's throats? If Jackson skipped class I bet you a million dollars you wouldn't even bat an eye! You'd probably find some way to blame it on me!"

     "That isn't true! And I know he wouldn't do that because... because he's a good kid!" She affirms with a nod.

     Holt scoffs, shaking his head in disbelief. "Wow. Okay," he retorts, nodding as he chews on his lower lip. "So you admit it, right? I'm like the villain in this scenario? I'm an evil monster right? Out to get your angel of a son I guess?"

     "No, Holt—you know that's not what I meant. You know just as well as I do that Jackson wouldn't ever pull a stunt like that." She corrects with a frustrated sigh, "You're just lashing out because of what happened—and you know this isn't the right way to face those issues!"

     "I'm not lashing out!" He snaps angrily, fists clenched at his sides as he glares straight at his mother.
     "Who do you think you're talking to?" She shouts back, her temper beginning to dwindle—but Holt isn't fazed. He's so blinded by the rage, it almost shields him from the warning signs of what's to come.

     "I'm talking to a crazy lady who thinks I'm some insane, out of control fucking monster!" He growls, taking a brave step forward.

     "That's enough." She warns, folding her glasses to set them down on the coffee table.

     "What do you mean that's enough—You can't just accuse me of... lashing out and then just end the conversation!" Holt gawks at his mother in disbelief, "You just don't wanna believe that Jackson can be guilty of, like, anything!"

     "Holt, I don't wanna hear it anymore." She attempts to caution, though it appears Holt isn't catching on.

     "Oh my GOD." He groans, tugging at his hair as he turns in the other direction. "I can't believe you! I can't even defend myself when you accuse me of this bullshit!" He begins pacing, refusing to face his mother as he rambles on. "It's always I'm the bad guy and I'm just hurting Jackson with every little thing I do!" He throws his hands in the air, "You don't care about me at all! Only Jackson! I mean, shit, mom! If you hate me so much why don't you just—"

     "That's enough!"

     Holt puts a halt to his pacing, his eyes wide as he remains frozen in place.

     "Did you forget who the hell you're talking to?" She snarls in a far harsher tone than her usual voice. "Look at me when I'm talking to you." She orders sternly prompting Holt to quickly turn around and face her, the regret plain on his face.

     What Holt faces however, isn't exactly his mom. Well, not what she normally looks like at least. Instead, what he finds is an almost distorted image of the more kind and approachable woman most would refer to as Ms. Jekyll. The woman in her place is bigger and far more menacing. Instead of pale skin, much similar to Jackson's, she has a deep and threatening blue close to Holt's. She sports a pair of chilling blood-red eyes that look like they could burn a hole right through anything she sets her gaze on. However, one similarity that can be noted is her dark black hair that contrasts greatly with Holt's fiery-red head of hair. The woman Holt faces would probably be referred to by most as Ms. Hyde.

    "Not so tough now, huh?" She taunts, folding her arms with an unfriendly frown.

     Holt diverts his gaze, his face flushing with embarrassment.

     "So, you think you can just walk out of class now, yeah? School just isn't important all of a sudden?" She questions, taking a menacing step forward.

     "No ma'am." Holt shifts uncomfortably, unable to lift his head as he swallows nervously.

     "Then why'd you do it? Do you think you're cool or something? You think it's cool to just do whatever you want without letting anyone know?"

     "No ma'am."

     "Then what the hell was that bullshit?" She bites out, "She wasn't wrong, you know? I'd be lying if I said I wasn't proud of the progress you two were making. Especially with everything else that had been going on on top of you two figuring things out—but it's like a switch flipped and suddenly you just don't care."

     "That's not true." He mumbles with a shake of his head.

     "Really? Well, I don't know if it was that whole mess that happened on Halloween, or something way different, but you're acting like a completely different person. You aren't sleeping as much, your grades are starting to slip, you haven't accepted any gigs in the last two weeks, you and Jackson aren't talking as much, you hardly leave the house at all, and now it looks like whenever you do get out you like to wander out of school and get lost on the other side of town!"

     Holt clenches his teeth, his brows knit as his fists close firmly at his sides. "It doesn't have anything to do with... Halloween." He remarks quietly, still finding it hard to look up at his mother as he speaks.

     "Then what is it, Holt? Because this behavior? It's unacceptable—what you did is ridiculous! You're acting like such a child! And if you keep this up, we're gonna have to keep you from going out at all because who knows? You might end up getting into trouble again!"

     Holt opens his mouth to say something but he quickly clamps it shut, taking a deep breath through his nose before shaking his head. He turns away from his mom, beginning to make his way towards the stairs again.

     "Hey! We aren't done here."

     Holt whips around with a furious look in his eyes. "What else is there to say? I've already heard it from the both of you—I get it, okay? I screwed up." He holds his arms out before dropping them at his sides. "and I won't do it again since I'm making Jackson's life so miserable." He lets out a gruff sigh before turning to the stairs again.

     "Get over here." She orders sternly, her brows knit.

     "What do you want?!" He finally shouts, his shoulders slumped as if the dark bags under his eyes couldn't accentuate how exhausted he was.

     "Don't you yell at me! You aren't going anywhere until you tell me what the hell is going on with you." She orders firmly, refusing to break eye contact.

     "There's nothing going on!" He lies with an annoyed scowl.

     Ms. Hyde remains unfazed, arms folded tightly over her broad chest as she awaits the response she demanded.

     Holt groans and rolls his eyes, whipping back around to face the stairs.

     "Holt!" She bites out in annoyance.

     "Nothing is going on! I already told you!" He exclaims, dragging his hands tiredly down his face.

     "Why won't you just tell me what's going on?"

     "Because nothing is going on!"

     "It's about what happened on Halloween, isn't it?"

     Holt falters for a moment, his heart sinks and just the mere thought of the horrendous night leaves him feeling sick to his stomach. "I'm going to bed." He states sternly.

     "We need to talk about this! Right now!" She calls after him, once again forcing the boy to turn back around now looking angrier than ever.

     "I don't wanna talk about it! And we don't need to talk about it either!" He reaches the start of the stairway.

     "Holt, get over here!" She demands, beginning to follow after him.

     "No!" He shouts, whipping back around to face her with watery eyes. "Leave me the hell alone! I don't wanna talk to you or... or her—or ANYONE!"

     Just as he begins to make a break for it, his mother reaches out and pulls him back by the sleeve of his hoodie, causing the boy to stumble back and nearly knock right into her. He quickly spins around to face her, his eyes narrowed and his teeth clenched before he abruptly raises his hands and removes the headphones from around his ears.

     "What the hell are you doing?" She sputters, her eyes wide as she reaches out to try and stop him.

     Holt falters for a brief moment, the lack of music causing him to dwindle before he smashes the headphones onto the floor.

     Within a matter of seconds he's is stumbling back against the staircase, his hand immediately reaching for the railing in an attempt to keep balance. It doesn't take long before he's wincing in pain. A blue-tinted flame appears, engulfing his form and replacing Holt with a pale boy with dark brown hair hunched over the staircase.

☯︎

     Jackson leans heavily against the railing, his hands gripping the surface as hard as he can in an attempt to continue holding himself up from falling. He keeps his eyes squinted, still adjusting to the room. He could already tell something wasn't right whether it was the dim lighting of the house, or the fact that mom wasn't exactly... herself.

     Regardless, Jackson finds himself puzzled. His heart is racing like he'd just ran a marathon and there's this dreaded feeling plaguing him; a feeling that he did something wrong. Something really wrong. It must have been something absolutely terrible because the fear plaguing the poor boy keeps him frozen in place

     "Jackson?" His mom tries, slowly approaching him while he remains entirely still against the railing.

     "Jackson, talk to me."

     The boy doesn't budge.

     "Jackson, buddy, it's alright. C'mon, look at me," she slowly reaches out and touches his arm, giving it a small shake.

     Jackson stiffens. He takes a funny breath as his tense jaw begins to quiver. He shutters slightly, his eyes beginning to sting as his fingers twitch against the railing.

     "Hey, hey, it's okay—you don't gotta be upset, just... just try and breathe, yeah?"

     "Mom... what... what did I do?" He croaks, his eyes beginning to glisten under the dim lighting of the room.

     What could he possibly be in trouble for? He doesn't necessarily recall doing anything—recently at least. Although... the memory of the night that took place only about two weeks ago pokes out like a sore thumb, and as he ventures to think back on the subject, he begins to realize what could possibly be going on.

     "What? No—you didn't do anything." His mother assures, quickly shaking her head at the ridiculous idea.

     "No, mom, it was my idea," he admits, placing his shaking hand on his chest, the horrific night awfully vivid in his mind, "I wanted to go with them but..." he sniffles, raising a hand to wipe his nose, "but they wanted Holt instead of me—so I let them have him and..." Jackson drops his head, tears trickling down his cheeks as he chokes on a sob.

     His mother's red eyes widen at his words as she struggles to put the pieces together. "Jackson, what the hell are you talking about?" She questions, looking mortified at the bizarre story he was laying out for her.

     "I'm so sorry..." Jackson whimpers, gasping for air as he leans heavier against the railing. His mother moves to stand directly in front of him; on the other side of the railing. She tries to hold him in place, honestly a bit lost on how to handle the situation.

     The boy continues to grapple for air, wincing at the contact, yet he remains stuck in place. He attempts to sputter out more apologies, but they only come out as incoherent sobs jutted in between gasps for air. He wants everything but to stay here, but his mind is scattered, he can't see, and he feels so guilty he could puke. The scenario he had struggled to explain didn't really help either. In fact, the sole fact that he had been fishing for the details through his tangled memory seemed to have only made things worse as he finds himself beginning to spiral through the chunks of events he manages to remember from that dreaded night.

     That haunting clanging of the aged metal inching closer to his head begins to drown out his mother's voice as she struggles to soothe him. He can almost see himself there again. The cold autumn air causes him to shudder as his back remains pressed against the cold, metallic surface of the machine.

     There's no way of escape. The restraints are too tight around his wrists and ankles, and he could try to squirm underneath the death trap, but it would be no use. The jagged, clanging metal was only growing closer and closer to his head, leaving him with no other option but to accept his fate.

     His mother's grip on his arms doesn't exactly help with the situation. In fact, it almost seems to emulate the restraints confining him to the death trap, and the realization sends his mind into a frenzy.

     In the matter of moments, Jackson's head shoots up, but he doesn't waste another second before tearing himself out of his mother's grip. He refuses to face her for even a mere second, rapidly spinning around to run up the steps and into his room. He slams the door shut, leaning heavily against it for some sort of leverage as he pants heavily, slowly sinking down onto the floor. He drops his head into his hands, his pale fingers tangling in his dark hair as warm tears stream down his face.

Chapter Text

"Hey."

Jackson looks up from his clawculous book, his brows knitting at the boy who stands before him.

"Hey." He mutters before looking back to his textbook.

"Dude—look," Deuce begins, moving to sit across from his friend on the other side of the lunch table. "I'm only asking this because I care about you and I... I don't wanna hurt you at all—neither of you." He affirms, moving his hands as he speaks with his elbows propped up on the table. "But what did I do?"

"What?" Jackson retorts bluntly, looking unfazed (to say the least), bookmarking his page before gazing back up at the gorgon with an expression that could be best described as bored.

"What did I do to piss you guys off?" Deuce clarifies, leaning closer; eager for a response.

"Oh." Jackson blinks, "Well, you..." he taps his fingers on the cover of his textbook with a thoughtful frown surfacing on his face, "You, uh..." he begins to stammer, furrowing his brows as he struggles to recall what exactly had happened. His memory was never really great after being out of commission for so long.

"Was it the other day in Hack's?" Deuce juts in, his leg bouncing anxiously underneath the table. The last thing he wants is to lose his best friend over a silly mistake he hadn't had the thought to account for.

"What? No, no—We made up." the human boy assures with a nod, though his expression tells a completely different story, "Didn't we?" He asks more to himself than to Deuce as he struggles to think back on what had happened. It had to have been something if he had this almost, like, enraged feeling when facing Deuce. However, when he really begins to think about it, he genuinely can't seem to recall what could have happened.

"I thought we did—but if you're still upset you're totally in the right, man. I screwed up. I should've been more cautious." Deuce affirms, his snakes hissing eagerly as he sits at the edge of his seat.

"No, Deuce—I'm not upset. I forgive you—really. I just..." he bites his lip, fidgeting with his eyebrow ring, "I don't think you did anything." He finally admits, looking back up at his friend with an apologetic frown. "I... I'm sorry for acting weird, I just..." he shakes his head with a shrug. "I dunno."

Deuce quickly straightens up, though there's a mild look of concern on his face. "No, it's okay, man. I understand." He really doesn't, but that's what you say to try and make someone feel better... right?

Jackson goes quiet for a moment, a troubled frown grazing his lips as he packs his textbook back into his bag.

The gorgon still finds himself pondering the cause of Jackson's strange behavior. Could it be what happened with... Holt? But him and Jackson didn't really share memories—at least that's what Jackson said the last time they talked about it. But Holt did say they were still prone to changes—or something along the lines of that. Or Holt could've just told Jackson about what happened.

Yeesh, that really was something.

The shorter of the two stands from his seat, "You wanna go somewhere else?" He offers, gesturing towards the students beginning to filter into the creepateria, his eyes fixated on a scaly fellow holding a speaker just waiting to play music.

"Oh, uh, yeah." Deuce replies with a nod, guiding his friend out of the room as they venture out towards the halls.

"I'm really sorry for acting weird, man." Jackson mutters, "I promise I'll make it up to you," he assures, reaching out to give the gorgon a friendly pat on the back.

However, Deuce unexpectedly recoils from the touch, grimacing slightly as his snakes hiss threateningly at the shorter boy.

"Jesus—are you okay?" Jackson sputters, adjusting his glasses. He gawks up at the snakes unsurely before peering at Deuce's shoulder, half expecting to find a giant knife wedged into his back.

"Oh yeah, yeah—sorry. I just, uh, I kinda roughed up my shoulder." Deuce assures with a nervous chuckle, gently patting the injured area.

"What happened?" The human boy inquires, unable to remove his gaze from the spot. He just keeps screwing up today, huh?

"Oh, uh, nothing really. I was just uh, at casketball practice with, uh, Clawd... and the guys." Deuce answers, nodding slowly as he speaks, though the dark lenses of his shades mask the uncertainty in his eyes.

Jackson furrows his brows, "casketball doesn't start until next semester." He states sternly, taking a small step back to look his friend up and down, "Why're you lying to me?" He questions unsurely, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Wait—did I say casketball practice? No, no," he begins, quickly shaking his head, "I meant we were playing casketball—that's when I got hurt."

Jackson remains unfazed, staring at Deuce as he waits impatiently for the truth. However, a strange thought crosses his mind and he almost holds himself back from asking, though considering he had practically vanished for a whole day, a part of him wouldn't be surprised if he got the answer he didn't want to hear. "Did I do something to you?"

"What? No—I mean—not, like, technically," Deuce admits, rubbing the back of his neck with a nervous smile.

"Technically? What does that even—" Jackson's eyes widen and his shoulders slump. His heart sinks and he shakes his head in disbelief, "Did he—Did Holt do something to you?" He instantly scrambles to fish his phone out of his pocket.

"No—I mean, well, like, yeah—but it wasn't his fault! We were just, like, messing around or something—it really doesn't even hurt that bad." Deuce tries to assure, though his rambling doesn't seem to stop Jackson from frantically typing away into his iCoffin.

"Then why did you react like that when I tapped your shoulder?" Jackson counters, keeping his eyes glued to the screen.

"I don't know! I..." Deuce glances around as if the answer would pop out of thin air, but he's at a loss for words. "I just wasn't expecting it!" He tries, though he knows for a fact that his excuse wasn't even remotely believable.

Jackson hits send before shutting off his phone and tucking it into his pocket, finally looking back up at his friend with an embarrassed frown. "What did he do to you, Deuce?"

☯︎

Holt stares at his phone screen with his eyes narrowed and his mouth agape. He had anticipated Jackson finding out about the whole situation between him and Deuce from yesterday, but he really didn't expect him to react so... harshly.

What the hell is wrong with you? You seriously think it's okay to go shoving my friend around like he's a fucking punching bag??? THAT ISN'T OKAY. I don't know what your problem is, but this better not happen again. You need to stay away from him and get a hold of yourself because you're starting to act just like grandpa, and I don't need you going around RUINING MY LIFE!!! -j

Over and over, Holt rereads the message as if it would change each time. However, it doesn't, and he finds himself transfixed on a specific line.

you're starting to act just like grandpa

The line repeats continuously, almost taunting him every time his eyes trace back to the words.

He doesn't mean that.

Holt shakes his head, forcing himself to turn away from the screen as he turns back to his locker, frantically digging through his and Jackson's belongings as he struggles to ignore the words practically engraved into his brain at this point.

Grandpa was crazy—I am NOT crazy. He KILLED people... I would never KILL someone!

He winces at the very thought, chewing his lower lip as he reaches out for his backpack, slinging one strap over his shoulder before he raises the phone to his face again. For the millionth time, Holt finds himself scanning through the text, his brows knitting as he reads over that stupid line.

How could he even say that? Not even mom is anywhere NEAR as bad as him. Grandpa's... EVIL! I got into a little fight with Deuce and now I'm an unhinged murderer?

Holt narrows his eyes, gritting his teeth before he slams the locker shut.

"Hey, Holt."

Holt tenses at the familiar voice, immediately shoving his phone into his pocket before he whips around to find Frankie Stein standing right before him.

"I missed you yesterday," she begins, approaching the boy with a warm smile, "were you guys out sick or something?"

Holt backs into his locker, his face burning with embarrassment as he struggles to form a single sentence. He can really only muster up a small nod. He fidgets nervously with the wires of his earbuds, faltering slightly at the silent reminder of the state of his beloved headphones. Thinking back on his behavior from last night, he probably was lashing out a bit. He kinda wishes he didn't, you know, smash his headphones onto the floor, and since he hasn't been accepting any gigs for the past few weeks, it's gonna be a lot harder to save up for a new pair.

"You alright?" Frankie queries, taking a small step forward as she scans the boy with a concerned frown.

"Yeah." Holt finally manages to blurt, straightening up slightly as he forces a smile and a nod.

Maybe he is acting weird. Like... grandpa weird.

He stifles another frown at the thought, averting his gaze from the ghoul's green and blue eyes watching him unsurely.

Maybe he should run away. Then he won't have to answer any questions and he can avoid any confrontation—but would that be weird?

Is that what grandpa would do?

Holt glances back at Frankie before staring back down at the floor while he chews anxiously on the inside of his cheek.

Frankie glances at her phone screen, gasping at the image displayed on the device. "We should probably get going," she insists, "we're gonna be late to music theory," she warns worriedly, reaching out to gently take Holt's hand before guiding him down the hall.

Everything inside of Holt screams at him to yank his hand away and run in the opposite direction. Maybe he could go hide in that one stall again until Jackson's second period so he could just take care of the rest of today—but if Holt yanked his hand away he'd probably end up taking Frankie's whole arm with him, and she probably wouldn't be too happy with him hiding away in the bathroom with her arm in his possession. That, and Jackson is sounding two seconds away from getting rid of Holt for good—by whatever means that may be.

Holt shutters at the thought. Looks like hanging with Frankie would be the better option—plus, she isn't being all weird and pushy about how he's doing, so who wouldn't wanna hang out with the finest ghoul in school?

He tightens his grip on Frankie's hand, beginning to walk with her rather than being dragged along by the girl. Since the substitute was still... subbing, students were making themselves at home just about anywhere throughout the class, leaving Holt and Frankie to take their seats right beside one another.

The red head squints at the board from his new spot, testing whether or not he would have to borrow Frankie's notes after class. Judging by the fuzzy words on the chalkboard, he makes a mental note to ask the stitched-up ghoul about the notes later in the day. However, while he moves on to examine the rest of the class, his eyes land directly on the fuzzy image of Operetta seated across the class from him. His immediate reaction is to face forward again, prompting a short glance from his mint-green elbow-buddy.

Holt taps his fingers anxiously on the table, now thinking back on his encounter with Operetta yesterday morning. How had he not apologized yet? He treated her like crap! Now she definitely hated him for good.

He takes a funny breath, stifling the urge to turn and face her again even despite the fact that she was a relatively blurred image from his point of view. He shifts uncomfortably in his seat, his leg beginning to bounce on the floor underneath the table. He should probably tell her something. Maybe before class so he doesn't have to have it on his mind all period.

Holt's never been one to complain about the temperature being too warm, yet he finds it hard to ignore the almost stuffy air flooding the room. As he glances around at the students seated in his row, he can't help but notice that no one else seems to be bothered by the rather uncomfortable atmosphere of the class. His heart begins to thump harder in his chest.

Am I actually going crazy?

Holt tugs down on the collar of his hoodie, his frantic eyes juggling throughout the room before he proceeds to roll up his sleeves. He drops his hands in his lap, rocking slightly in his seat as he begins fidget with a tear in his jeans.

I'm not crazy. Just breathe. Everything's fine.

The boy nods to himself, taking another funny breath as he struggles to keep focus. He keeps his eyes glued to the table while he pulls aimlessly at a loose thread on the hem of his hoodie. He clenches his jaw, narrowing his eyes before he begins chewing on his inner cheek. He takes a shaky breath through his nose, his hands beginning to tremble in his lap.

Frankie furrows her brows curiously when she sees Holt moving around all frantically in the corner of her eye, prompting her to look up from her phone and blink in surprise at the sight of the rather skittish boy contrasting greatly with the more out-going and confident Holt Hyde she knows. From the sight of his expression she can't really tell if he's in pain or constipated. Maybe both?

"Um..." she murmurs, glancing around before raising a hesitant hand to slowly reach out and touch him. However, before she can actually reach the boy, the door opens and the substitute takes his seat in the desk centered at the front of the class.

As students scurry back to their places; desks and chairs drag loudly against the floor, prompting Frankie to instantly snatch her hand back. The loud noise seems to wake Holt from his trance; causing him to quickly sit up as his head turns left, then right and then straight at Frankie who stares directly at him with an uncertain frown. Holt forces a smile though as soon as the older man conducting the class begins to speak up, the blue boy's gaze falls as well as his strained expression.

After attendance, the instructor doesn't waste a single moment before beginning to scribble notes onto the chalkboard that appears as white blobs of fuzziness to Holt's eyes, leaving him to aimlessly squint at the images being displayed before the class. He clenches his pen in his hand, his brows furrowing as he struggles to connect the blurred shapes into coherent words.

Again, the green girl beside the fiery-haired boy finds herself watching her elbow-buddy with intrigue. She notes the squinting and the blank page laid out before him, prompting her to gently nudge her own sheet closer to his space.

Meanwhile, Holt is far too busy squeezing the living hell out of his pen to notice until he feels a poke on his shoulder that forces him to turn and face her. He blinks at the paper being offered to him, taking a moment to process before raising his hand to take the sheet—and then his eyes widen.

"Shit—" Holt hisses, instantly dropping his pen on the table to reveal it had been bent into a contorted state, thus receiving a relatively surprised look from Frankie as she observes the pen with intrigue.

"Is it... melted?" The girl inquires in a hushed tone, unable to remove her eyes from the misshapen pen.

"Yes." Holt bites out, frantically digging through his bag for a new one while also struggling to hide his face burning in embarrassment.

"Take mine," the girl insists, setting her pencil on Holt's blank sheet, causing him to look up with a frazzled look. Frankie frowns at the sight, thus prompting her to set a firm hand on his shoulder, offering a kind smile for reassurance. "It's okay, it's just a pen," she assures with a nod.

Holt opens his mouth to protest because who the hell just goes around melting pens in their hands?, but he softens slightly at her touch. So, he nods silently, setting his bag aside before moving on to copy Frankie's notes onto his own paper.

☯︎

"So, you guys have Rotter next period, right?" Frankie ponders, walking shoulder to shoulder with Holt as they make their way down the hall.

"Yeah," Holt replies with a nod, switching through songs on his iCoffin as they approach his locker.

"That's great!" Frankie exclaims, waiting patiently as Holt switches his backpack out with Jackson's, shutting his locker as he shoves his phone back into his pocket. "That's not too far from my third period, I can walk you guys there." The girl offers rather enthusiastically, prompting a small amused smile to graze the blue boy's lips. However, his smile falters when his gaze falls back on the green backpack in his hand.

"Walk Jackson you mean," Holt sighs with a roll of his eyes, slinging the bag over his shoulder as he begins to make his way towards the bathroom.

"Well, yeah—" Frankie begins, blinking when Holt suddenly begins on his way, "but I'm technically still walking with you too, you know." The girl tries to be optimistic, stopping at the bathroom door.

"I guess," Holt grumbles with a shrug, not looking all that moved by Frankie's words. He begins to open the door, pausing for a moment before looking back to her one last time, "I'll see you later, Frankie-Fine." He musters up a small smile and a wave before entering the bathroom.

Frankie throws the boy a wave, grinning at the nickname before moving to lean against the wall near the bathroom.

☯︎

Jackson exits the stall with a tired frown and bad posture. He glances around in case anyone had been lurking in the corners before facing the mirror. He frowns at the dark circles around his eyes, prompting him to move closer. He raises a hand to sort of trace the bags hanging under his eyes as if they'd magically disappear at the touch. He lets out a disappointed sigh, adjusting his glasses and running a hand through his hair in an attempt to tame the tousled mop on his head. Similarly to his attempt to erase the dark circles, his hair remains looking unkempt, prompting the teen to let out an annoyed sigh with a roll of his eyes as he turns to exit the bathroom.

"Jackson!"

The boy instantly jumps at the sound of his name, whipping around to see a familiar stitched-together face greeting him with a friendly smile.

"Frankie!" He retorts in a poor attempt to reiterate her enthusiastic tone.

"I feel like I haven't seen you in decades!" She continues, stepping forward to envelop the boy in a big hug. Jackson awkwardly wraps an arm around her, offering a small pat on her back as his face begins to redden.

"Ow!" He winces at a sudden sharp, almost buzzing pain in his upper chest.

Frankie's eyes widen as she quickly pulls away. "Sorry!" She blurts out, her bolts sparking slightly as she sheepishly watches the boy rubbing his chest with a pained frown, "I just got really excited seeing you again after, like, what's it been, a week already?"

Jackson straightens up, raising a quizzical brow at her statement, "I'm pretty sure I saw you, like, two days ago—on Monday." The boy counters with a shake of his head.

"Oh. Right." Frankie snickers lightly, brushing her hair behind her ear, "yesterday was just really long without you guys," she admits, beginning to walk with Jackson down the hall.

"Yeah..." Jackson mumbles, fumbling awkwardly with the strap of his backpack with his gaze lowered at the reminder. In all honesty it felt like he woke up yesterday morning, blacked out, then magically appeared slumped over the staircase, entirely fear-stricken. It was a horrible experience and his stomach churns at the thought.

Frankie glances at the boy with a worried frown, prompting her to tug lightly at her wrist stitches before speaking up again, "Do you feel any better at least?" She implores, offering a small smile to hopefully lighten the mood.

"What?" Jackson gives her a confused look, not entirely sure what on earth she could be on about. He briefly wonders if maybe Holt could've mentioned something, but it's not like he knew anything anyways. Speaking of... Jackson fishes his phone from his pocket, checking for a response and frowning when he finds none. What the hell?

"You guys were sick yesterday, right?"

Jackson almost snorts, putting a sudden halt to his walking as he turns to face the girl with an amused grin. "Where on earth did you hear that from?"

Frankie blinks in surprise, sort of taken aback by the boy's reaction. "Holt... he said you guys were out sick."

"Oh my god," Jackson rolls his eyes, his mind already beginning to swarm with ideas of what to write back to his other half. "Well, he's a liar, Frankie." The boy remarks with a shake of his head, frowning again at the lack of response displayed on his screen before shoving his phone back into his pocket.

"What? But he... what happened then?" Frankie sputters, not wanting to believe that the boy she considered to be one of her closest friends would lie about something so minuscule. What if it was something really bad? Like a death in the family? Frankie's eyes widen at the thought. Could it be Crossfade?

"He ditched school." Jackson states bluntly as if it were obvious, "and better yet, he didn't even bother to tell me or anyone anything about it either." The boy remarks with another roll of his eyes as he folds his arms across his chest, "I was hardly out at all yesterday. Maybe two or three hours max."

Frankie finds herself at a loss for words, a distinct frown painted on her lips as she mulls over the new information. Why would Holt skip school? Why wouldn't he tell me about it either?

"You should stay away from him, Frankie." Jackson warns, though it comes across more like an order, "He's acting really weird." He explains, beginning to walk towards the door of Mr. Rotter's class, thus luring the conversation towards its end.

"He seemed pretty normal to me," she mumbles, though she knows for a fact that the statement wasn't entirely true. Sure, he was acting a little weird, but it's early in the morning, everyone's weird in the morning. Right?

"He lied to you." Jackson retorts with a blank expression, staring at Frankie as if he was waiting for her to admit it was a joke.

However, Frankie doesn't seem to change her stance, she just lets out a sigh before a small smile resurfaces on her face. "I'll see you in Kindergrübber." She concludes with a small nod before heading off on her way.

"See ya'," Jackson replies before letting out another sigh as he turns to enter the classroom. After briefly discussing the work he had missed from the day prior with Mr. Rotter, he makes his way to his seat, slumping tiredly against the table as he soaks up the last bit of free time he has before class starts.

"Hey, dude! I was thinking—" Deuce greets, sliding into his seat beside Jackson, thus prompting the human boy to sit up from the table and face the gorgon setting his bag on the table before turning to face his desk buddy again. "What if... What if me and Holt, like, talk? Maybe we could resolve things and I could figure out—"

"No." Jackson instantly opposes with a firm shake of his head. The very thought of Deuce having to encounter that unruly lunatic of a monster made him sick to his stomach.

Deuce frowns at Jackson's abrupt response, scooting closer as he props one arm against the table, his fingers tapping the surface anxiously. "How come, man?" He asks in a hushed tone.

"Because he's crazy?" Jackson states as if it were obvious, turning to unpack his backpack.

"I don't..." Deuce trails off, his gaze drifting as he struggles to search for the right words, "but how are we ever gonna settle things between the two of us if we never talk?" He tries to explain, turning back to Jackson as if the boy would magically change his mind.

"What if he does more than just shove you against a locker, Deuce?" Jackson begins, dropping his bag before he turns to face the gorgon beside him once again. "What if he really hurts you Deuce? Like, really hurts you." The boy argues, his brows knit as he speaks.

"But what if he doesn't, Jackson?" Deuce counters, "It looked like there was something genuinely wrong and I... I think I made things worse by bugging him—but I can't even know if that's the case if I can't even ask him about it." He insists, his snakes beginning to squirm under the tense vibe of the conversation.

"Deuce." Jackson begins, turning to face his friend entirely, "He. Is. Insane." The boy reiterates, entirely unmoved by the gorgon's argument, "He hurt you, remember? He could definitely do way worse if he feels it's necessary." He practically scolds, "I don't want you anywhere near him. Not at all." Jackson concludes turning back to his late work laid out on the table before him.

"Wait, what? Jackson—oh, come on, man!" Deuce almost begs, leaning closer in an attempt to grab the boy's attention. "Look—I get that you're worried, but I really don't think—"

"Deuce, do you happen to, I dunno, share a body with this guy you're suddenly so dead set on defending?"

"I—"

"No. I may have only known about him for the last, I dunno, three months, but I'm pretty damn sure I know him better than anyone else in the entire world." Jackson states sternly, "And I know for a fact that going around screwing up people's shoulders isn't something a sane person would do." He concurs, looking back at his paper again as Deuce slumps in his seat with a defeated sigh.

Jackson had a point—there was no way in hell Deuce could ever possibly understand Holt the same way Jackson does. The guy said it himself; the two of them literally live in the same body. If anyone would know Holt it would be Jackson. Yet, at the same time, Jackson has made it clear on multiple occasions that he feels like there's a permanent border separating the two from ever really conversing or understanding one another. Sure, they could always leave messages for one another whether in text or video format, but that wall will always be there.

Despite being best friends with Jackson, Deuce hardly knows Holt. However, regardless of his limited interactions with the DJ, the gorgon can tell that that something is not right with him. From what Deuce can grasp, Holt seems like a fairly outgoing kind of guy. Loud? Yes. A bit rowdy at times? Sure. But Holt isn't insane. Not in Deuce's eyes at least.

He glances back at his friend, biting his lower lip as he mulls over the situation. There's something more than meets the eye about Holt's behavior, and he needs to get to the bottom of it. Maybe he could find some way to work around all this.

☯︎

Holt pics at the corner of his phone case, adjusting his earbuds with a frown, fighting the urge to just rip them out in a fit of frustration. But of course, if he were to rip them out he'd just be repeating the ridiculousness that was yesterday, and that's the last thing he needs right now. It was already a big enough problem that he decided to sit outside for lunch; because being in such a crowded area made it harder to tell if people were staring—and what if someone picked up on something being off? What if a rumor went around and everyone thought he was weird or... or DANGEROUS. What if everyone starts to think he's just like his grandpa too?

Holt winces at the thought, glancing left and right in case his fears had become reality. Thankfully it appears that everyone had decided to situate themselves inside—which was probably the smart idea considering how chilly it gets in the middle of November. Holt shutters slightly as a small breeze blows by, forcing him to shove his hands in the pocket of his hoodie.

Maybe this was a stupid idea. No one is even out here and he could certainly find somewhere to hide inside. Maybe that one stall in the bathroom—

Holt whips around when something taps his shoulder, his eyes wide as he stares back at the perpetrator. His shoulders instantly slump and he lets out a huge sigh in relief when he finds Frankie standing behind him with a welcoming smile.

"Why're you out here by yourself?" Frankie inquires, moving to sit beside Holt on the stone bench.

"I thought the, uh, fresh air was nice," Holt retorts with a grin, though it falters as he shutters at another passing breeze. Maybe he should've worn more layers.

Frankie frowns unsurely, scanning the boy curiously as she shifts against the bench, "I think Operetta has first lunch today, weren't you guys working on that album or something?" she inquires, gazing over the dry grass as she props her chin up on her hand.

Holt tenses at the name, turning to Frankie with wide eyes "Yeah, we're not really..." he begins to trail off as his gaze falls to his lap. "I think we're gonna put it off for now." He mumbles with a frown, nervously chewing his lip as he toys with the silver ring on his left thumb.

"Really?" Frankie turns to face him again, eyes wide in disbelief, "How come? You guys seemed pretty stoked about it last week." The girl remarks, watching Holt quietly as a worried frown begins to resurface on her face.

"We, just, uh," Holt stammers, biting his lip as he struggles to find the words, "I don't know, um..." he very much does know what happened, but he doesn't know how to explain to Frankie that he was throwing a tantrum and yelling like a total lunatic. Like grandpa. Holt takes a funny breath, shivering slightly at another passing breeze that he tries to ignore as he continues to struggle to put words into a sentence.

"Holt?" Frankie tries, scooting a tad bit closer as she watches the boy worriedly.

"I... it's just, you know, a lot of stuff happened yesterday, and I just—I really don't know how to put it all into words," Holt tries to clarify, moving his hands as he speaks as if the action alone would add clarification to his jumbled explanation.

"Holt, it's okay—you don't gotta talk about it if it makes you uncomfortable." Frankie assures, reaching out, hesitant to touch his arm.

"No—It's not that I'm uncomfortable," is he? "It's just... it's hard to think." Holt goes quiet again, mulling over the options as he proceeds to fumble with his trembling hands in his lap.

Frankie watches her friend with ever-growing concern, taking in a deep breath before reaching to set her warm hand over his. He looks up at her with clear worry in his eyes, causing the girl to frown before mustering up a reassuring smile. "Maybe we should head inside, it's a lot warmer and I'm sure it'll be way easier to think when you aren't shivering in the cold." She comments with a small chuckle before taking Holt's hand and stands from the bench.

Holt isn't really given much time to respond before Frankie's leading him inside the towering school. He doesn't protest though, because he would be lying if he said the cold wasn't crippling by this point. Now that he thinks about it, maybe the cold does make it harder to think.

It's not long before the pair is found standing in a vacant hallway; Holt leans against a locker, fidgeting with the hem of his sleeve while Frankie waits patiently for him to begin.

"So... I wasn't completely honest about what happened yesterday." Holt admits, briefly glancing at Frankie before shooting his gaze down at the floor. "I didn't—I mean—I wasn't home sick. I actually came to school in the morning."

Frankie can't help but let her shoulders drop at the news. So Jackson was right; Holt lied. She wants to be hurt though there's a part of her yearning to understand why he would lie about something so small. He knows she wouldn't judge, so why not just be honest? Frankie tugs uncomfortably at a loose stitch in her arm. Though she can't be too hurt since he's at least being honest now. Better sooner than later, I guess. She ponders with a dejected sigh.

"I was actually supposed to work on the album with Operetta yesterday before school but, uh," Holt raises a hand to rub the back of his neck as the memory replays in his head, "we kinda got into it and I sort of lost my temper and, um... stormed out," he lets out a short sigh, "we haven't really talked since." he shrugs, frowning uncomfortably, still feeling like a total douche for still not bothering to even try apologizing. Half the day was already gone anyways. At this point, he may as well wave his friendship with Operetta goodbye.

Frankie shifts uncomfortably, searching quietly for Holt's gaze as he continues to awkwardly fidget against the locker.

Holt takes Frankie's silence as a cue to continue, "then I kinda got into it with Deuce too," he confesses, crossing his arms as he turns his head to the side, his face burning with embarrassment as the scene replays in his head, "but then I stormed off again and I, um..." he moves to shove his hands in his pockets, chewing his lip as he continues to shift uncomfortably against the lockers, "I sorta, uh, skipped class," he mutters shamefully.

Frankie remains silent, still processing the information being laid out on the table. Jackson really wasn't lying—of course he wasn't. When does Jackson ever lie? She fidgets with her bracelet, shifting her weight from foot to foot as she gazes over at the troubled boy before her. "Why'd you skip school, Holt?" She manages to ask, though the answer seems obvious.

Holt simply shrugs, letting out a small relieved sigh at the fact that Frankie hadn't bombarded him with an unnecessary lecture, "I just needed to blow off some steam, I guess." He mumbles, yet to lift his gaze from the floor.

"Why'd you lie to me, Holt?" Frankie finally blurts, her hands frantically folding and unfolding as she chews her lip anxiously. "You know I wouldn't judge," she tries to assure, wanting anything but to scare the boy away again.

Holt falters at the question, guilt leaving him with a sick feeling in his stomach; twisting his insides as he struggles to form a response. "I, uh," He stammers helplessly, chewing the inside of his cheek as his eyes shoot in all different directions in search of some sort of a response. "I dunno, Frankie. I just—"

"Holt?"

Holt tenses at the sound of his name; his frantic glancing around comes to a sudden halt, and his heart stops entirely. He doesn't even think to breathe as he looks up from the floor, dodging Frankie's gaze as he turns to face a familiar pair of red-rimmed shades only a couple of feet away.

You need to stay away from him

The line repeats over and over in his head, acting as somewhat of an alarm sending every signal throughout his body for him to turn and run in the opposite direction. He doesn't waste a single second before quickly whipping around and running down the opposite hall from the two left in his dust.

"Holt!" Frankie calls, eyes wide in surprise at the sight. She turns her head back at Deuce as a silent form of asking what the hell was that?

Deuce opens and closes his mouth like a goldfish, unable to bunch his scattered thoughts into an explanation. Lunch ends in less than five minutes. He glances back and forth from Frankie and Holt who begins turning the corner; thus leaving his view. He's got no time to waste. Deuce glances back at Frankie one last time before he bolts down the hall; chasing right after Holt who struggles to keep a steady pace.

Holt pants heavily, his heart hammering against his chest at an accelerating rate as he moves to dodge past students and teachers scattered through the halls. He hears a muffled female voice call after him about some sort of rule against running in the halls, but considering the severity of the situation, he could care less. After running for what seems like ages, he finally gains the courage to glance back, eyes going impossibly wider when he finds Deuce running after him at a relatively close distance. It's a darn shame the gorgon happens to play on just about any and every sports team Monster High offers. Maybe I should've joined SKRM after all.

"STOP RUNNING!" Deuce calls from down the hall, but that doesn't slow Holt even in the slightest. If anything, the order almost pushes him to run faster. In fact, it provokes Holt to make a quick turn into the next hall, scrambling to continue onto his path. However, instead of proceeding to run down the hall, Holt steps on his own shoe lace and in only a matter of seconds, he's sent crashing face-first into the floor with a loud SMACK!

Deuce instantly stops dead in his tracks at the sight of the boy on the floor. "Oh god..." he mutters, raising his hands to his head as his mind begins to flood with all of the possible horrible outcomes.

Holt groans in pain, tears stinging his eyes as he rolls over onto his back. He raises a hand to cradle his nose throbbing with burning hot pain, hissing slightly at the contact as he struggles to sit up from the floor.

"Holt!" Frankie gasps, pushing past Deuce to meet Holt on the floor. "ohmygosh—are you okay? Let me see your nose," The girl sputters, nudging Holt's hand out of the way to reveal dark crimson oozing from his nostrils, drizzling down onto his hoodie. His favorite hoodie, actually.

Luckily for Holt, he's far too busy struggling to focus on the music playing through one earbud now that the other dangles down his chest, his eyes squinted as his vision begins to go in and out.

"Oh gosh—okay—let's just keep that there," Frankie quickly presses Holt's hand against his nose, causing him to grimace at the blossoming pain. She moves to carefully adjust his earbuds, using a free hand to steady him before she begins digging through her bag for tissues.

Deuce winces at the carnage; his stomach twisting at the sight. "Dude—Are you alright?" He blurts, quickly stepping forward.

Holt blinks hard, now able to better comprehend what had been going on with the music much louder in his ears. He tenses at the sight of the familiar checkered Vans, prompting him to stare up at the gorgon rapidly approaching. "No, no!" He blurts, kicking away before frantically reaching to yank the earbuds out of his ears.

"HOLT!" Frankie almost screams, scrambling to catch the earbuds as Holt tosses them to the side. She can't help but reluctantly scramble away at the sight of familiar blue tinted-flames beginning to engulf his form.

Deuce quickly stumbles back, unable to keep from staring with his mouth agape as Holt falls back to the floor, writhing in pain as blood continues to gush out his nose.

☯︎

Jackson spits blood at the floor, gagging at the metallic taste at the back of his throat as he struggles to wipe away the blood from his nose. He doesn't even entirely comprehend that there's blood all over his face until he raises his free hand to eye-level, instantly taking note of the red contrasting greatly against his pale skin. Jackson's eyes instantly widen at the sight, prompting him to raise both hands to his face. He finds himself hardly phased by the fact that he's still in Holt's clothes, far too busy struggling to keep more blood from getting to the floor.

Frankie's the first one to Jackson's side, lifting a crumpled up tissue to his nose as she sets a firm hand on his arm. "Jackson, are you okay?" She asks in a hurried tone, staring right at him with worry stricken through her expression.

"I don't know—What the hell happened?" He muffles into his palm, holding the tissue to his nose. He tries to hunch lower but Frankie guides his head to tilt back in order to keep more blood from practically soaking Holt's hoodie.

Deuce doesn't take long before wearily walking over, looking down at the two with a bit of a lost expression. However, when Frankie looks up at him as she struggles to come up with an explanation, he quietly shakes his head as a quiet beg to leave him out of it.

"I'm not sure," Frankie lies, her gaze falling back to Jackson who squeezes his eyes shut in an attempt to cope with the throbbing pain in his face, "I think Holt fell and I was around the corner so I immediately saw him."

"I, uh, me too," Deuce juts in, not sounding as believable.

"We were getting an early start to class," She explains, though telling by Jackson's lack of a response, he didn't really care for all the nitty gritty details.

"We should probably take him to the nurse," Deuce insists, moving to Jackson's other side, "the bells gonna ring in no time so we should get going ASAP." The gorgon urges, already moving to take Jackson's arm.

Frankie nods obediently, moving to take the human boy's other arm as she assists Deuce in helping Jackson up off of the floor.

Jackson stumbles but thankfully doesn't fall again, "I can hardly see, you guys are gonna need to be my eyes," he warns wearily, still looking a bit out of it as the two begin to lead him down the hall.

☯︎

Jackson pulls a wad of toilet paper out of his nose and tosses it into the bin. He grimaces at the red soaking the paper, stepping away from the bin to wash the remaining blood from his hands. The bell for fifth period rang about five minutes ago, meaning there really isn't any point in rushing anything. He exits the bathroom of the nurse's office with an uncomfortable frown. He adjusts his glasses before grabbing the plastic bag holding Holt's bloodied hoodie before picking up his backpack from the waiting area and taking a slip from the nurse, thus giving him the OK to head back to class.

"Hey! Is everything alright? She didn't give you an ice pack?" Frankie sputters the very second Jackson steps out of the office.

"Yeah, I'm okay. Nothings broken and there's not really any swelling," he explains, pointing to his reddened nose. There were no signs of bleeding though it looks like he's come down with some sort of a cold.

"Are you sure?" Deuce inquires, stepping away from the wall to approach his friend with a worried frown, "I can take your backpack for you," he offers, reaching out as Jackson shoves the hoodie into his bag.

"No—I'm fine." Jackson assures with a swift shake of his head, slinging the strap over his shoulder, "we should get going though, I don't wanna make you guys any later than you already are." He mumbles before beginning to walk down the hall.

The trio make their way to class in record time; all thanks to Jackson's persistence to get to there in time. They all manage to make it no more than ten minutes late. Thankfully Ms. Kindergrübber is a very understanding woman, so there isn't really much of an explanation needed. The three depart to their desks; Jackson and Frankie sit near the back while Deuce finds himself seated near the front. Meanwhile, Ms. Kindergrübber continues with the lesson while Frankie takes out her pen and paper. She pauses for a moment when a ball of paper hits her back. She turns to face a darker skinned ghoul with curly auburn hair, golden-yellow eyes, and pointed teeth.

What happened? She mouths with a curiously arched brow.

Frankie nods towards her lab buddy who's far too busy staring at the front of the class to notice. "I'll tell you later," she whispers before turning back around. She doesn't really notice what exactly it is that Jackson is looking at. In all honesty, she doesn't really feel the need to take note of such a thing, but it could easily be inferred that he was just paying extra close attention to the lesson—as per usual, of course. However, in reality, Jackson hardly has a single clue what the instructor is on about.

Across the class, Deuce shifts uncomfortably in his seat. He tries to keep his eyes glued to the board but he finds that it's quite the chore to focus on anything when there's a pair of icy blue eyes piercing right through him like freshly sharpened daggers.

After the short lecture, the instructor pulls out a rickety old projector. The lights are shut off and then the board lights up with a video.

"Do you need the notes?" Deuce tenses at the voice, prompting him to reluctantly turn and face the tan girl seated beside him.

"Sure," he mutters, quietly taking her paper and scanning through the neat, scripture-like handwriting marked on the page.

"How come you guys were late?" the girl whispers, brushing back her dark hair accented with blonde highlights in order to prop her chin up on her palm, watching quietly as Deuce copies the work.

"Some stuff happened with Jackson," He mutters with a shrug, trying to ignore the way her eyes follow each and every move he makes. Why did things have to be so weird now that they're broken up?

"Is he... okay?" The girl mumbles quietly, leaning a bit closer as she speaks.

Deuce raises a brow, glancing at her for a moment before looking back down at his paper again. "Yeah, he's okay," he replies, honestly a bit surprised that she'd even bother asking.

Frankie finishes up her notes before allowing herself to put her full attention on the video playing at the front of the class. She glances idly at Jackson but quickly looks back when she finds that his paper is relatively empty. She furrows her brows, instantly noting his almost... angered expression. She proceeds to curiously follow Jackson's gaze to the front of the class. At first glance, one would imagine that he was just... super intensely focused on the video, but as Frankie looks closer, she realizes that Jackson is staring—no—glaring directly at Deuce... and Cleo.

Frankie looks back to Jackson, a bit taken aback by the scene. However, when she looks back at the boy she finds something a bit off. At first, she mistakes it for his hair covering his face, but as she narrows her eyes she finds a dark, almost symbol-like mark along the left side of his face. She instantly recognizes it, though before she can even think of how to react, she catches a glimpse of a fiery-red color mixing in with the blues of his eyes.

Jackson's eyes narrow as Cleo reaches over and takes a paper from Deuce's hand. She scoots her chair closer, close enough to where their shoulders almost touch before she leans even closer to whisper in his ear. He squeezes his pen in his hand, not paying any notice to the way the utensil almost melts and contorts in his hand, or the way that the left side of his face looks almost... blue.

"Jackson?" Frankie mutters silently, hesitantly reaching out to touch his hand, though she quickly recoils when she finds that he's hot to the touch.

Jackson, however, instantly straightens at the contact. In less than a millisecond, the mark, the red in his eyes, and the blue tint to his skin disappear, leaving Frankie to wonder if maybe she had been hallucinating. However, that thought is instantly disproven when Jackson drops his pen on the desk, revealing it had been contorted into a bizarre shape. "What the hell?" He mutters to himself, gawking at the deformed pen with wide eyes. He looks back at Frankie who mirrors his astonished expression. He turns to the pen again and reaches out wearily to lift it to eye-level, "Did I—"

The pair jump at the sound of the bell ringing. Then they both stare back at each other. There's an uncomfortable silence that blankets the two before Jackson abruptly breaks the silence, "I gotta go," he blurts, quickly averting his gaze before scrambling to gather his things.

Frankie still finds herself almost frozen in place, blinking as Jackson quickly leaves the room with a bowed head and a big frown painted across his face.

Chapter Text

    "Have you tried drinking water?" Deuce implores, leaning closer to his friend with a concerned frown.

     "Yes," Jackson grumbles, tiredly rubbing his temples and pushing up his glasses in the process.

     "Maybe we could go grab an ice pack real quick?" The gorgon suggests, "I don't think she'll be here for another..." he glances at his phone, "hour or so?"

     Jackson quickly shakes his head, dropping his hands before adjusting his glasses. "I don't see how that'll help. It's already freezing out here." He mutters with a shrug, hugging his backpack close to his chest, "I'm already starting to lose feeling in my fingers," he remarks, balling his cold hands into fists.

     "Good point," Deuce retorts, glancing around the courtyard of the school as he rolls down the sleeves to his hoodie. He then opens his backpack to pull out a green beanie; almost the exact shade as the slithering snakes he has for hair.

     Jackson scrolls idly through his phone, eventually opening up his text messages and frowning when he still finds no response from Holt. He quietly rolls his eyes, though just before he leaves the app he finds himself scanning through the last message he had sent. It was a bit... aggressive—he'll admit it—but how else was he supposed to react to Holt literally attacking his best friend? He glances back at Deuce at the thought, a small smirk tugging at his lips at the sight of the gorgon struggling to tuck each unruly snake underneath his beanie.

     Maybe Deuce was right though; maybe there was more to the story and Jackson was being a little too harsh. He chews his lip thoughtfully, his tiny smile gradually faltering as he reads through the text for a second time. A small part of him does feel kind of bad. Though there's still a huge part of him that's entirely envious of the hot-headed DJ for totally getting away with injuring Deuce's shoulder without any punishment whatsoever. Who just does that? Jackson shakes his head in distaste, glaring at the message left on 'read' with an agitated frown. Then he winces, his tight grip on the phone wavering as he raises a free hand to his head.

     Deuce pauses wrestling with the snakes to throw Jackson another worried frown. He looks down at the concrete steps beneath the two of them with his brows furrowed thoughtfully. Then almost as if a lightbulb lights up over his head, he suddenly perks up and turns back to Jackson. "Hey—Maybe taking a walk will make you feel better."

     "Huh?" Jackson grumbles, squinting up at his friend seated at his side with a brow raised in confusion. He keeps his hand gripping his head, hoping the contact would somehow ease the pain.

     The stupid headache had started during fifth period—well, more like at the end of class—but that's besides the point. It was right after that weird thing with the pen happened. He still finds himself entirely lost on how the hell he ever mustered up that much... heat? He shakes his head at the thought. Pretending it didn't happen at all seems like the best option so far since thinking any harder over the whole impossibility of the situation made the throbbing pain in his head impossibly worse.

     "Being outside and moving around—it might make your headache go away," Deuce explains, adjusting the beanie over his head.

     Jackson gives Deuce an intrigued look, "What're you trying to insinuate?" he remarks with a small smile tugging at his lips.

     "Well, I have a shift in about an hour or so—so maybe you can walk with me. I have all the work you missed yesterday too, so while I work you can get caught up and all that junk," Deuce shrugs, already moving to grab his worn black backpack from the steps below him.

     Jackson actually perks up at the idea. A walk would be a nice change of pace. Otherwise, he would probably spend all afternoon being cooped up in his room. Before he can really express any of this though, his shoulders slump at a text from his mom appearing on screen.

     Sorry I'm running late. I'll let you know when I'm about to head on my way.

     "I can't." Jackson grumbles with a dejected frown, watching his phone screen with sad eyes.

     "Aw, how come?" Deuce practically deflates, peering over Jackson's shoulder at the screen with a curious squint.

     "Holt." Jackson simply states, preparing to type out a response, "my mom thinks he's gonna try running off again, so we're basically grounded until further notice," he explains with a roll of his eyes, his finger hovering over the send button before Deuce juts in.

     "What if you tell her you're going with me? I promise I'll make sure nothing happens—plus, the music is always really low at this place," he assures with a nod, "and it's always pretty empty on school nights," the boy adds with a shrug, absentmindedly tapping his fingers on his knee.

     "I, uh..." Jackson considers the offer, chewing his lip thoughtfully as he gazes back down at the message displayed on his screen, "I dunno, man," he mutters unsurely, running a hand through his hair while his eyes remain glued to the screen.

     "C'mon—It won't hurt to just ask. Worst case I can try and stop by your place later to help with your missing work," the gorgon offers with a grin.

     Jackson glances back up at Deuce, unable to keep a smile from tugging at his lips at the sight of his friend so elated over the idea. He finally lets out a sigh, "okaaay..." he relents, rolling his eyes as he moves on to delete the text he had typed out, replacing the words with:

     Can I walk Deuce to work? He has all the stuff I missed yesterday.

     "Don't be surprised if she says no," Jackson warns, though the amused smirk is yet to be wiped from his face.

     "Oh, whatever, dude. You're too pessimistic," Deuce playfully scolds, giving the boy's arm a friendly nudge.

     "Look, I just don't want you to get your hopes up, okay?" Jackson retorts with a small snicker at the nudge. Right on cue, his phone pings with another text. "Alright let's see, how much do you wanna bet she's gonna say no?"

     Deuce scratches his chin thoughtfully, unable to keep a straight face, "hmm, let's see..." he tilts his head to the side, "I dunno maaan, I don't want you to go in debt, but I've really been trying to save up for a new board," he jests, leaning closer and closer to Jackson until he's slumped against the shorter boy's side.

     Jackson snorts, rolling his eyes as he pushes the gorgon away, "oh my god—let's just settle on twenty, yeah?" He concludes, unable to wipe the grin off his face as he unlocks the phone.

     "Fine! But you better record me on my new skateboard," Deuce warns, poking at Jackson's arm with a snicker.

     "Stop!" Jackson giggles, shoving Deuce's hand away as he opens the chat. A wide grin instantly paints over Jackson's face at the sight of the text displayed on the screen. "Hand it over," he orders, holding out his hand in the gorgon's face.

     "No she didn't!" Deuce gasps over-dramatically, reaching to snatch the phone from Jackson's hands. He scans the message and instantly tilts his head back with an exaggerated groan. "Come on, man!"

     Jackson shakes his head, taking his phone back while he continues to hold his free hand out. "We made a bet. Now gimmie—or I'll grab it from your wallet myself," he warns, though the smile is still prominent on his face.

    Deuce sinks back against the steps with another dramatic groan, laying there while Jackson stares down at him with his hand still held out. It's not until Jackson starts reaching for Deuce's pocket that he finally relents and pulls out his wallet, "I hope you know you're cutting right into my skateboard funds," he discloses before dropping a crumpled twenty dollar bill in Jackson's hand.

     "You snooze you lose," Jackson retorts, snatching the dollar before shoving it in his pocket with a smug grin painted across his face.

     "Whatever," Deuce sarcastically grumbles with a grin, sitting up from the steps as he straightens out his hoodie, "You should probably call her though," he suggests, nudging the boy with his elbow.

     "And tell her what? That I won our bet?" Jackson snickers, already pulling out his phone again, "I mean if you insist—"

     "No!" Deuce groans, giving the boy another playful shove, "I mean, like, you technically didn't do anything, right?"

     Jackson replies with a slow nod, his brows furrowing quizzically at Deuce's words.

     "Then why shouldn't you be allowed to go out? Maybe if you actually talk to her about it she'll reconsider." He explains with a shrug, looking way too proud of his proposal.

     Jackson can't help but roll his eyes at Deuce's confidence, his gaze falling back to his phone as he mulls over the idea. I mean, Deuce isn't wrong. I didn't do anything at all. If anything, I'm the victim here considering I missed out on an entire day just because Holt wanted to fuck off and skip school. Jackson narrows his eyes at the thought, his remorse for the harshness in his last message beginning to falter. Holt should be the one punished, not me. He lets out a short sigh before raising the phone to his ear, prompting a small grin to appear on the gorgon's face.

     The call almost instantly picks up. "Hello? Uh, hey, mom—no, no—I'm fine. Promise." Jackson rubs the bridge of his nose, already beginning to regret his decision. Phone calls with his mom were always a chore. "I just wanted to ask about the whole thing with, uh, Deuce... I know—but I've been there a ton of times already—so I know it's safe!" His expression suddenly turns sour. "What? No—Mom! It's me. Jackson! Why would I--" He groans with a roll of his eyes, reaching underneath his glasses to rub his eyes tiredly, "uh, yeah? What?" He glances over at Deuce, prompting the gorgon to raise a brow in confusion. "Seriously? No—He is here, I just—Okay! Just give me a second." Jackson grumbles, pulling the phone from his ear.

     "What'd she say?" Deuce mutters in a hushed tone, leaning closer as he speaks.

     Jackson faces his friend with an uncomfortable frown, "she wants to talk to you—to prove I'm actually me." He rolls his eyes again, his face beginning to redden in embarrassment.

     "Huh?" Deuce retorts dumbly, unable to properly comprehend the words that just left Jackson's mouth. He isn't really given much time to process what he was just told before he's having the phone abruptly handed to him.

     Jackson mouths an "I'm sorry," before dropping his head in his hands. The headache is starting to come back again.

     "Oh, uh, hey Mrs. J! I mean—Ms.—sorry..." he sputters with a nervous chuckle while Jackson plants his face in his hands, instantly regretting his decision to hand the phone over to Deuce. "I, uh, yeah! He's here—I just, uh, figured he could, um, benefit from being outside for a while... and he missed some work yesterday too so... I thought he could kinda, like, catch up on all that stuff too, y'know?" Deuce shrugs, tucking in a loose snake back into his beanie while he taps his fingers anxiously on his knee, "if that doesn't work that's totally cool of course—I just figured I could help out a little bit. We could totally always hang another time Mrs—Ms. J," he assures, nodding slightly despite the fact that she couldn't see him.

     Jackson keeps his head in his hands, struggling to drown out the sound of his mom and his best friend participating in the world's most awkward conversation while also coping with the growing pain in his temples.

     "Oh wow—really? Sweet!" Deuce exclaims, "oh yeah, for sure, gimme a second," the gorgon removes the phone from his ear, nudging Jackson for a moment which prompts the boy to squint up from his hands. "She wants me to put it on speaker," Deuce mutters before doing just that.

     "Can you guys hear me?" Ms. Jekyll speaks through the phone, prompting the pair to reply with a unanimous "yeah."

      "Okay... Jackson, you can go with Deuce," the pair instantly perk up at the news, "but I don't want you staying out past dark. How long should you two be out?"

     "Not long—probably until six or seven?" Deuce replies with a shrug.

     "I should probably pick you two up then... I'll be there at seven—don't go anywhere but the restaurant, okay?" She orders sternly, prompting Jackson to roll his eyes while he continues to rub his temples exhaustedly.

     "Sounds good, mom," he grumbles, taking his phone back from Deuce's hand. After a lengthy goodbye, the call finally ends, finally providing the green light for the pair to head off on their way. However, before the two actually begin their journey, Jackson pauses to type out a short message for Holt.

      I'm going to the pizza place Deuce works at. Mom's gonna pick us up around seven. If anything happens do NOT let anyone see you. I'm serious. -j

☯︎

    "You think you can still make it on Friday?" Deuce asks, shoving his hands into his pockets after tucking another loose snake under his beanie.

     "I mean, I want to, but if my mom is all weird about me going with you to work, I doubt she'll let me hang out with you guys." Jackson explains with a dejected sigh, pulling his sleeves over his practically frozen fingers.

     "It's only the cemetery though—and there's gonna be four of us if you show up too," the gorgon replies, nearly brushing shoulders with the shorter boy as they venture down the side of the road, "we've had, like, five campaigns in a row with no incidents—it'll be fine, dude." He assures with a firm nod.

     "It's not that I'm worried or anything—it's all my mom being a weirdo. She's acting like this is the first time Holt's ever thrown a stupid tantrum and she thinks he's gonna get us into more trouble or something." Jackson rolls his eyes.  Sure, Holt is reckless, but in all honesty, Jackson can't really see Holt willingly putting the two of them into any more trouble. Especially after what happened last month. Jackson stifles a frown at the thought as he continues to walk.

     Deuce lays a firm hand on Jackson's shoulder, "Awe, it's alright, dude," he assures with a warm smile, "I'm sure if I could convince her to have you come over to work with me, I can find some way to get you to hang with us on Friday night."

     Jackson can't help but smirk at Deuce's smile. Since he always has to wear those sunglasses, it kind of kills all the expression on his face. He even looks pissed off at times--but Deuce is probably the friendliest guy at Monster High. The contrast of that toothy smile with his rigid exterior would probably cheer anyone up.

     "You know, worst case, I'll just ditch the other guys and hang out at your place, dude." Deuce admits absent-mindedly.

     "What? No, man, you can't do that. I'll keep myself busy." Jackson assures, only able to imagine how horrible he'd feel if he let that happen. It's already bad enough that Holt (and by proxy Jackson) hurt Deuce's shoulder. He doesn't need to worsen the guy's week by holding him back from game night too.

     "I'm sure they'd understand, dude. Plus, I'm the game master this week, so I don't think they'd really have a choice," Deuce explains with a snicker, "and it's no fun when you're not there anyways." The gorgon adds with another nudge.

     Jackson doesn't comment on it, but Deuce's words keep that smile nearly super-glued to his face. Ever since everyone found out about his and Holt's whole... situation, most of the monsters at school have sort of laid off about him being a normie or whatever. Yet despite the so-called acceptance his peers have developed for him, Jackson can't help but notice this sort of favoritism people tend to have for Holt. Sure, he's cool and all for being a monster and a DJ—or whatever else he does, but Jackson is just as much monster as Holt. That, and he's a lot more respectable than Holt—so why does everyone feel the need to treat him as if he's lesser than?

     Deuce has always treated Jackson the same though. When he found out about Holt all those months ago, the gorgon was hardly phased by it. Jackson distinctly remembers his response to the news: "cool."

     Jackson winces slightly, rubbing his temple again as he grits his teeth.

     "You okay?" Deuce pauses his walking to look his friend over.

     "Yeah, just the stupid headache." Jackson replies, briefly removing his glasses to rub his eyes.

     "Uh, I think I still have that water bottle," the taller of the two offers, already beginning to remove his backpack from around his shoulder before even thinking of waiting for a response.

     "No, no, it's okay." Jackson protests, waving Deuce away with his hand as he pushes his glasses back up the bridge of his nose.

     "You sure?" the gorgon double checks, already starting to reach inside his bag.

     "Positive." Jackson asserts, straightening up again, "Sorry—we should get going," he blinks a few times before resuming his pace.

     "It's no problem, we've got plenty of time," Deuce assures once again, shoving his hands back in his pockets as he returns to Jackson's side. The pair walk for a short while before Deuce finds himself breaking the comfortable silence. "So... do you have any other plans for this weekend?"

     "Probably just homework and lying around if I don't end up going with you guys on Friday," he responds with a small chuckle towards the end.

     Deuce hums thoughtfully, mulling over Jackson's considerably uneventful weekend before responding, "Well, there's that skate park that's not too far from your place, right? Maybe if she doesn't let you out on Friday, we can go by there on the weekend." He offers with a shrug.

     "Hm, maybe," Jackson replies, kicking a pebble across the pavement as he moves to fold his arms over his chest in an attempt to warm himself. It's a shame Holt's stupid hoodie was all bloody, otherwise he probably wouldn't be feeling like a human popsicle right now. Jackson sighs, quietly observing his surroundings as he begins to take note of the wooded environment separating the two sides of town gradually fizzling out until the boys begin to enter the town of New Salem. Normally, Jackson wouldn't really be too worried about entering this side of town considering the fact that it takes more than one glance to see that he's not entirely human. However, he can't seem to shake this sense of... dread that slowly washes over him as he and Deuce enter the town. Thankfully, he's able to mask it with a bit of a neutral expression as he stifles a weary frown, though that doesn't keep him from frantically glancing left and right with every step as his grip on his backpack straps begins to tighten.

     The two remain relatively silent after passing a group of highschool-aged human girls which prompts Jackson to take a funny breath. He hides it as a cough into his elbow, throwing Deuce a nervous smile when the gorgon faces him with a look of concern. Despite the way this sense of trepidation plagues him, Jackson tries to keep himself straightened up, hoping that the act of keeping a firm stance would somehow fight off the strange sensation as the pair continue onward. Nothing really seems to change, but he keeps his eyes peeled for any warning signs.

     After a couple of minutes, Jackson starts to wonder if he could be overreacting. There's a surprisingly small amount of people out, and despite his tense nerves, the walk has gone relatively smoothly. Not only that, but his headache is yet to resurface, providing some sort of hope that he'd be fine for the rest of the evening. What a relief, he thinks to himself, letting out a quiet sigh through his nose. No one wants to do homework with a crippling headache.

     It appears that all is well until Jackson's catches something in the corner of his eye, prompting his pace to gradually slow to a halt. He stares across the street at an eerily familiar car; the shiny black and white surface he remembers all too vividly strikes him with that same sensation of dread he felt the very moment he stepped into this side of town. He breathes out a shaky sigh, frozen in place as his eyes remain fixated on the vehicle.

     The longer he stares, the harder it is for him to ignore the distinct memory of the claustrophobic atmosphere of the back seat. The cold metallic cuffs were clamped way too tight, causing them to pinch at his wrists any time he would move the wrong way. He had to keep leaning up against the door at an odd angle in order to keep the metal from continuing to nip at his skin, but with what little space he had, it was nearly impossible to find a comfortable position. Then, when he finally did find a spot that didn't leave his arms aching, the driver would take a swift turn to the next street, forcing the boy to slam right into the car door, thus sending a sharp pain down his arm.

     "I didn't do anything!" He'd bark at the window grate separating him from the front seat. Of course, he didn't get a response. So, he would start violently thrashing against the back seat, hoping to somehow magically free himself from the painful cuffs restraining his arms. Then, as some sort of sick punishment, the driver would take another sharp turn, causing the boy to slam into the door again, and prompting him to let out an angry growl in annoyance.

     "LET ME GO!" He screamed, but again, he didn't get a response. So, he repeated the cycle of violently thrashing against the hard, plastic surface of the back seat. The driver then glared at him through the rearview mirror before making a snide comment to his partner in the passenger seat. The boy in the back seat couldn't hear a single thing over the loud music blasting through his headphones paired with the deafening sirens blaring from above. It was so goddamn loud, he could hardly think—but that despicable expression on the driver's face drove the boy absolutely mad. It sent him right into another fit of thrashing to the point that the cuffs began digging deep into his wrists. However, with how loud everything was, it was as if all his other senses had been drowned out. He hardly noticed the pain—in fact, it took him about three days after to notice the dark bruises circling his wrists—he was just too angry in the moment; and he didn't have the time to notice. All he had time to do was fantasize about being freed.

     Though, as the vehicle approached the New Salem Police Station, his eyes widened, and he found it impossible to hold back the tears stinging his eyes. What would mom think? What would she do? Would she even trust that he hadn't done anything? At this point he began to shake. He was so lost in his own thoughts that he hadn't even noticed the driver step out of the front seat until he suddenly swung the back door open. The boy instantly scrambled away from the open door, and couldn't keep himself from shaking. "I am NOT going in there!" He growled with a swift shake of his head.

     "Alright, now I've had just about enough of you, you... freak!" The driver spat out before reaching into the back seat and yanking the boy out. The boy fought the whole way, screaming and crying and begging for the man to let him go until he was thrown right into the hard surface of the ground. Before he could even react, a strong hand grabbed him by the shoulder and—

     "Jackson?"

     Jackson instantly spins around at the sound of his name, stumbling back a bit as he yelps in surprise. He stares at the taller boy who approaches him, his blue eyes wide and glossy as he shakes like a damn chihuahua that had been left out in the cold for too long. He can't stop shaking.

     "Are you... okay?" Deuce asks slowly, watching his friend with wide, worried eyes hidden behind his dark shades.

     The shorter boy opens his mouth to speak but nothing comes out, his eyes somehow dare to dart back at the cruiser across the street, prompting the gorgon's gaze to follow. Deuce blinks, the realization suddenly hitting him. Though before he can muster up any sort of response, Jackson clears his throat, quickly rubbing his eyes before forcing himself to straighten up again. "I'm fine—sorry." He quickly mutters, unable to look up at his friend.

     "Are you sure? We can, uh, head back if you want," Deuce assures, watching Jackson with a look of uncertainty as he adjusts his glasses.

     "I'm okay." Is all Jackson says, still refusing to actually face his friend. He keeps his head bowed.

     "I, uh... okay." Deuce replies, though he can't really get himself to keep walking. It feels wrong, but what is he supposed to do? He can't just force Jackson to say something else even despite the fact that he clearly is not okay.

     In the end, it's Jackson who starts walking first, prompting the gorgon to follow suit. The shorter of the pair walks closer towards the road, allowing him to easily watch the cruiser on the other side of the street. Every time he catches a glimpse of the vehicle, his heart begins hammering rapidly in his chest. He tries to keep his head bowed, but it's like the car is following him or something. "Can we switch spots?" He finally speaks up again, just barely glancing up at Deuce when he asks.

     Deuce almost instantly nods. "Of course," he quickly replies, and the pair switch around to where Deuce acts as a stone wall separating Jackson from viewing that damned vehicle. Jackson hardly speaks for the rest of the walk; he remains rather kept to himself, his gaze glued to the ground, hardly making a sound as he walks. The gorgon frequently watches his friend with worry, wanting to ask for the umpteenth time if he was "okay," but it's more than clear that he isn't in the mood to talk.

☯︎

    Deuce asks Jackson at least forty times if he needs anything, before he finally leaves Jackson alone with their backpacks at a vacant table near the entrance of the restaurant. Deuce makes his way towards the back, leaving Jackson staring until the gorgon is out of sight. He lets out a small sigh, wincing slightly as he rubs his temple again.

     Any ounce of hope he had that the headache would leave was thrown out the window the very second he saw that stupid car. He shakes his head at the thought. He tries to distract from the pain by examining the room around him. Deuce wasn't lying when he said the place was relatively vacant on school nights. He can count the people in here on one hand—and that's including the workers. Jackson sighs before taking Holt's backpack and shoving it underneath the table before pulling out his own work.

     Despite missing a whole day's worth of work, it doesn't really take him that long to get through half of the work he missed, in fact, he actually spends a majority of his time correcting Deuce's work that he was supposed to be referencing. You would think he'd find this as somewhat of a chore, but the extra work sort of helps to take his mind off of things. He actually ends up so deeply focused on his task at hand that he nearly jumps out of his seat when he feels someone tap his shoulder.

     "Sorry dude! Are you okay?" Deuce sputters, taking a step back to give the guy some room.

     "Yeah." Jackson blurts, quickly straightening up as he averts his gaze. Wait. He pauses before turning to face Deuce with brows furrowed in confusion. "What are you doing? Aren't you supposed to be in the back?"

     "Yeah--but I'm taking a 'bathroom break'," He explains with air quotes before moving to sit in the empty chair on the other side of the table.

     "Well... then go to the bathroom!" Jackson replies, leaning back with his arms crossed over his chest.

     "What? I'm boring you already?" Deuce remarks with a grin, his pointed canines out for practically the whole world to see.

     Jackson's eyes widen at the sight and he nearly climbs over the table to slap his hand over the gorgon's mouth. "Someone's gonna see!" He warns in a whisper shout, staring at Deuce like he'd grown a third arm.

     Deuce stares down at Jackon's hand over his mouth with his brows raised in surprise before gently removing the boy's hand from his face. "It's all cool, man." he assures, though Jackson looks far from relieved. Deuce drops the grin, leaning closer as he lowers his voice, "They think I got them sharpened or something" he explains gesturing towards the other workers scattered throughout the restaurant, "it's all cool."

     Jackson sinks back into his seat with an unsure frown, eying his friend for a moment before letting out a small sigh. "Sorry." He murmurs, glancing around the room with a bit of a discomforted look on his face.

     Deuce frowns, "hey, it's okay man, sorry for spooking you." He honestly isn't even remotely bothered by Jackson freaking out about his teeth. It's quite understandable actually, especially after what happened on Halloween. He shifts uncomfortably at the memory. In actuality, he finds himself rather bothered by the fact that Jackson felt the need to apologize.

     Jackson still finds it hard to actually look at Deuce again. I'm such a loser. He shakes his head, his gaze averted as he runs a hand through his hair. Who freaks out over stupid things like that? Deuce isn't stupid—he wouldn't have done that if it wasn't safe. He cringes at the thought, though before he can sulk over being a massive weirdo any longer, Deuce is standing from the chair, prompting Jackson to look up.

     "I gotta go for a bit—but I should be back in the next hour or so," he hurriedly explains before momentarily pausing at Jackson's side. "Try to relax though, alright? I promise you're safe here." Deuce affirms with a small pat on Jackson's shoulder before he heads off on his way.

     Jackson sinks back into his chair with a sigh, gazing over his homework scattered across the table as he chews his lip thoughtfully. It's not long before he resumes his pace, making some hefty progress before Deuce comes back a tad bit sooner than expected. He offers to help with whatever it is that Jackson's working on, but of course, Jackson turns down the offer. He explains how he was on the last problem instead of admitting to the gorgon that he ended up having to correct half of his answers. It's not that Jackson minds or anything, he actually enjoys helping his friend out whenever he can. Plus, even if it is kind of lame, he sort of enjoys biteology anyways.

     Deuce returns another dozen times, probably more because Jackson lost count around five or seven. At first, he would scold Deuce for not working like he's supposed to, and he would warn him about how he would get fired and how it would be quite the awkward call to Jackson's mom explaining how they needed to be picked up early because Deuce lost his job for screwing around instead of taking his bathroom breaks for what they're for. Then, after the millionth time Deuce comes around, Jackson gives up on the scolding, which Deuce takes as quite the victory. However, just as Jackson begins to wrap things up with his makeup work, he hears his name, though this time it doesn't seem to be coming from Deuce.

     "Jackson? No way! What are you doing here, man?" A dark-haired girl greets, approaching the table with her black-painted lips quirked up into a grin.

     Jackson blinks in surprise. "Oh, uh, wow—hey, Clair," he stammers with a nervous smile, shifting uncomfortably in his seat as the girl approaches him. He hadn't seen her since everything went down in October. Well, they've kept in contact since, but it's felt like ages since the two have actually seen eachother in person. "I'm, just, uh, catching up on some homework," he adds, his eyes falling back to the papers laid out before him.

     "Maybe I can help," she offers, taking the empty seat as her hazel eyes scan the papers with intrigue. "Let's see..." she begins, taking a paper and looking it over. Her eyes instantly widen at the contents written on the page. "Claw-culous?" she sounds out with an arched brow, causing Jackson to snicker as he reaches over to take the paper back.

     "Yeah... Something tells me they don't offer the course at New Salem High?" He jests with a small grin as he tucks the paper into a yellow folder.

     "No kidding," Clair remarks with a roll of her eyes. She goes quiet for a moment; silently examining the boy seated across from her before speaking up again. "Looks like you're losing all the bleach in your hair," she comments, propping her chin up on her hand.

     "Oh, uh, yeah," he replies, gathering the rest of his papers before running a hand through his hair, "I cut it last week, I meant to re-bleach it on the weekend but," he shrugs, "I just never got around to it."

     "I like it—your natural hair is nice," she compliments with a smile, leaving Jackson to let out a nervous laugh in response. His eyes drift away as he sort of sinks back into his chair. He's never been great with compliments.

     "I dunno, it's kinda boring when it's all plain," Jackson replies before managing to glance up for a short moment. He instantly notes the faded streak of blue in her hair. "I like the way the blue faded." The last time he saw her it was a vibrant blue—it really popped out from her black hair. "It looks kinda silver-ish now." Even now the faded, greyish shade compliments her naturally dark hair quite nicely.

     "Oh, thanks," she grins, leaning back in her chair, "I've actually been meaning to touch up my hair too, maybe we could get together and fix up both our hair--I doubt you'll use the whole container of bleach." She adds with a snicker, idly picking at the sleeve of her black sweater.

     "That's actually not a bad idea," He retorts, though before he can comment further on the idea, he finds his gaze fixated on the white skull decorating the front of her sweater. He might be totally off, but if he remembers correctly... that's the exact same sweater she wore on the night of the incident. He stifles a wince as the pressure in his temples slowly returns. He tries to subtly raise his hand to rub his temple, clenching his jaw slightly as he struggles to ignore the pain.

     "So, how've you been besides homework and cutting your hair?" Clair queries, shifting in her seat to prop her elbows back on the table.

     Jackson blinks; his eyes finally looking somewhere else besides the sweater as Clair moves. However, he totally misses her question. "What?" He asks, looking up at her again.

     "How've you been since Halloween and all that junk?" She repeats, oblivious to the growing headache plaguing the boy before her. Then her eyes fall to Jackson's iCoffin that vibrates on the table.

     Jackson glances at the phone but before he can even think to grab it, he instantly freezes at the word. He takes a shaky breath, unable to hold back a wince as the aching in his temples progresses to pounding.

     "Are you okay?" she frowns worriedy, leaning a bit closer.

     "No—I mean—yeah. I... I'm fine—I'm okay." He sputters, though his pained expression says otherwise. He glances around the room, struggling to find a distraction for the increasing pain in his head. His heart starts to pound harder in his chest, and the room is starting to feel... hot.

     "Are you... sure?" Clair questions, watching Jackson with ever-growing concern.

     "I'm fine, seriously." Jackson reaffirms with a nod, unable to look back at Clair as his eyes scatter around in just about every other spot in the room. It's like his heart is pounding faster and louder by the second—and it is so damn hot. "Is it hot in here?" He finally blurts, setting his glasses down on the table as he moves to wipe sweat from his forehead.

     "Uh, no, not, um, really—it's actually kind of cold—are you sure you're okay?" Clair stammers, unable to keep from helplessly staring at the boy who's beginning to look rather ill as he sinks his face into his hands.

     "Are you serious?" Jackson breathes out, beginning to sound a bit out of breath. He manages to barely lift his head to wipe more sweat from his forehead. "It's like a sauna in here..." he mutters, running a shaky hand through his hair as sweat begins to practically soak his face.

     "Oh my god, Jackson—" Clair blurts, standing from her chair to reach his side, "I don't know what to do, uh," her eyes scatter throughout the room as she struggles to find the solution. Meanwhile, Jackson is practically melting against the table, his eyes squinted as he grimaces at this almost burning sensation that practically consumes him. He can hardly understand a word that leaves Clair's mouth—though her muffled voice sounds so loud in his ears. In fact, just about everything sounds so damn loud; the AC blowing from a nearby vent, the muffled clanging from the kitchen near the back, the muffled chatter scattered throughout the establishment, the way his heart hammers so loud in his ears—EVERYTHING. It's all so loud. He can hardly even hear himself think. In fact, he hardly even notices Clair at his side until she starts trying to pull him out of the chair.

     "Stop—" he struggles to breathe out, wincing at the pounding in his head before a sharp, almost prickly sensation abruptly appears in his upper chest before quickly spreading throughout the rest of his body. Suddenly, the realization hits him, and his head instantly shoots up, startling Clair in the process.

     "Jackson—hold on—what are you doing?" she sputters worriedly, stepping back as Jackson scrambles out of his seat.

     "I gotta go," he blurts, rushing to push past her which prompts her to instantly follow.

      "Wait—what's going on?" There isn't any music—none at all actually, and from what Clair's experienced, the transformation generally occurs within seconds. What if something is genuinely wrong? She tries to follow him as fast as she can, but she stops when Jackson reaches the bathroom door. "Jackson—what's happening? Are you—" Before she can get another word in, Jackson pushes past the door and runs straight into the bathroom.

     Although it only lasts a mere second; just as Jackson whips around to shut the door, there's a brief moment where the pair lock eyes long enough for Clair to note a prominent glimmer of a shade of fiery-red in the blue of Jackson's eyes.

    Jackson quickly stumbles into the nearest stall, nearly landing face flat into the tiled floor before he catches himself against the wall of the stall. He tries to squint down at the blurriness beneath him but he can't see a thing. Maybe he should've taken his glasses—but, his vision is the last of his concerns since his heart is hammering so rapidly in his chest he can hardly catch his breath. The sharp prickling pain only continues to worsen by the second, causing him to slump against the wall as he grimaces. His hair starts to stick to his forehead, and despite leaning entirely against the wall, he's starting to lose balance, and it doesn't take him long to drop to his knees, still panting like he'd just ran an entire marathon.

     He raises his shaking hands to try and yank off the black t-shirt he wears layered on top of a long-sleeved yellow shirt in some sort of attempt to cool himself, but in the end, he ends up leaning heavily against the cold wall, his sweaty shirt clenched in his hands as he groans in pain as a loud ringing begins blaring in his ears. He can almost feel his goddamn heart in his throat, pounding so loud it's all he can hear over the ringing.

     Then, there's a sudden sharp pain in his gut, causing him to cry out as he hugs his middle, hunching forward before curling up on the dirty floor. Following directly after the sharp pain, the burning goes from prickling to stabbing in a matter of moments, leaving the boy with tears spilling from his eyes as he struggles to keep from screaming. It feels like he's burning to death; like there's someone attacking him with a blowtorch. Jackson just barely manages to squint his eyes open long enough to see a growing flame starting on his leg. He immediately screams, though despite every signal in his body urging him to do at least something about the fact that he's literally caught flame, he hardly musters up enough energy to move. His limbs are starting to feel numb as he struggles with all his might to keep his eyes pried open, but as the blaze grows, dark splotches rapidly cloud his vision until eventually all he sees is black.

☯︎

     Holt wakes up squinting at the bright fluorescent lights of what seems to be a... bathroom?

    "What the hell?" He mutters, slowly sitting up from the floor with a wince as he raises a hand to his head. He glances around the stall, frowning at Jackson's discarded t-shirt on the floor before looking down at himself with a lingering frown. He tugs lightly on the yellow shirt he has on, cringing when he begins to notice how sweaty it is.

     "Ew..." he scrunches up his face before standing from the floor. He reaches in his pocket for his phone but pauses when he finds it empty. He then proceeds to check his three other pockets before beginning to sort of panic. He starts patting himself down, his heart beginning to quicken in pace as he discovers that his phone is nowhere in sight. Okay, I have no idea where I am. Just. Breathe.

     Holt takes a deep breath before slowly letting it out. Maybe he would just have to look around a bit. His phone had to be here somewhere. Just as Holt reaches out to open the door, he freezes when he hears someone enter the bathroom.

     "Jackson? Are you in here, man?" Deuce quickly enters the bathroom, scanning the stalls for his friend while his snakes squirm anxiously underneath his beanie that he hardly even bothers to keep on.

     Holt quietly steps back from the door of the stall, being as careful as he can be before bumping right into the metal box holding the toilet paper.

     "Shit--" He hisses, staring down at the box before his head shoots back up at the door. Footsteps slowly approach the door, leaving Holt to stare down at the floor outside the stall with wide eyes. His stomach churns when he sees Deuce's shadow looming over the stall door, prompting him to take another hesitant step back, but there's hardly any room for him to back up into unless he climbs onto the damn toilet.

     Deuce instantly catches 'Jackson' the very second he spots his beat up Converse in one of the stalls. However, the lack of response makes his snakes hiss even louder, nearly throwing off the whole beanie as they continue to squirm.

     "Jackson, what's going on dude? Clair said there was something wrong—are you okay?" the gorgon questions, adjusting the beanie slightly as he stares at the door worriedly.

     Clair? Holt raises a brow at the name. Like, hot goth Clair? He wonders quietly, trying to think of how and why he—well, Jackson would be with her at all right now. A part of him thinks of asking Deuce what was going on, but he isn't supposed to be talking to him or going near him or ANYTHING.

     Deuce waits a few seconds, not wanting to overwhelm the guy, though the longer 'Jackson' goes without saying anything, the more Deuce starts to worry that something really bad happened.

     "Dude, please talk to me. Just lemme know if you're alright." Deuce genuinely almost considers that maybe Jackson had just flat out died, but when he takes the time to listen closer, he picks up on the sound of quiet panting. So he isn't dead, Cool. Is he just ignoring me?

     Holt lets out a quiet sigh before raising his hands to his ears. Maybe if he just stays quiet Deuce will go away. Until then, why should he be talking to Deuce at all? He's convinced he's talking to Jackson anyways.

     "Jackson—c'mon dude! You're starting to freak me out, man." Deuce pleads, beginning to knock gently on the stall door.

     The knocking causes Holt to jump, then glare at the door because how dare Deuce startle him like that? "Dude! Just fuck off already!" He finally bites out in annoyance.

     Deuce pauses at the tone. He blinks once, then twice, then slowly opens his mouth again to speak. "Holt?" he says in a hushed tone, his snakes squirming anxiously as he struggles to keep his hat in place.

     "Don't you speak english?" He growls stepping closer to the door, brows furrowed as he glares at the door as if Deuce was right there for him to look at.

     "Oh, jeez, okay—hold on—" Deuce sputters, quickly rushing over to lock the door to the bathroom.

     For a moment, Holt almost finds himself relieved, figuring Deuce is finally leaving, but he ends up hurrying back before the stall in seconds. "Oh my god!"

     "Dude, you need to quiet down. We're on the normie side of town!" Deuce whisper yells.

     Holt's heart sinks, and if he's being quite honest, he feels like he's about to puke.

     "Holt?"

     The stall unlocks and Holt swings the door open, his eyes wide in terror at the news—yet at the same time, he looks just about ready to rip Deuce's head off.

     "What the fuck am I doing here?" He spits out angrily, gripping the stall door like his life depends on it.

     "I, uh, we, um—didn't Jackson leave you a message?" Deuce stammers, tugging his beanie again.

     "I don't know!" He shouts, shoving his hands in his pockets and then yanking them out empty, glaring at Deuce as if it were obvious.

     "Oh, um, okay, uh—"

     "Deuce—Tell me what the hell is going on!" He demands, taking a threatening step forward. Deuce winces at the tone and takes a quick step back when Holt approaches him.

     Holt's eyes immediately widen at the gorgon's reaction and he quickly shakes his head, holding his hands up as if to prove that he wouldn't cause any harm.

     Deuce stares at Holt unsurely, and just as he opens his mouth to try and somehow explain everything leading up to this point, his eyes widen when he notices something a bit peculiar about the guy standing before him. "Holt... Where are your headphones?"

     "What." Holt retorts bluntly, bringing his hands up to his ears, and then his shoulders slump.

     "Wait—no, no—that doesn't make sense—" he stammers, frantically patting himself down while almost spinning in a circle as if his headphones, earbuds—whatever would appear out of thin air, but they don't.

     "I—I don't know what's happening—" Holt blabbers, looking back up at Deuce with panic in his eyes.

     "Okay, okay, just—just try to relax," Deuce tries to assure, holding his hands up in an attempt to motion for Holt to calm down.

     "I'm sure there's a—" Before the gorgan can finish his sentence Holt is suddenly grimacing. He raises his hands up to his head and tugs at his fiery-red hair before he stumbles back into the stall.

     Deuce quickly steps forward, reaching out before immediately recoiling when a blue blaze appears from presumably thin air, instantly engulfing Holt.

     In a matter of seconds, Jackson is left in his place, stumbling forward and nearly falling face-flat onto the floor until Deuce scrambles forward and grabs him. "Jesus—Are you okay?" He blurts, holding Jackson up with wide eyes as he struggles to properly look him over. Jackson groans, hardly able to keep balance even with the help of Deuce. He opens his mouth to speak, but he just can't seem to find the energy to do so. Instead, Jackson just slumps against Deuce, his face colliding right with his chest as the pounding in his head returns, leaving him to muffle something incoherent against Deuce's shirt.

Chapter Text

I'm going to the pizza place Deuce works at. Mom's gonna pick us up around seven. If anything happens do NOT let anyone see you. I'm serious. -j

Holt hums thoughtfully, narrowing his eyes at the text as he struggles to put the pieces together. Maybe there was music playing and he just didn't notice. Maybe... it just happened to conveniently stop as soon as Deuce pointed out his lack of headphones.

He nods to himself, though there's something nagging at him; insisting that at least something about whatever the hell it was that happened yesterday did not make sense.

Holt winces slightly, drifting his gaze from the screen as he raises a hand to his temple.

Maybe he's thinking too hard.

He stares down at his phone one last time before beginning to shove it into his pocket—but then he pauses again.

Maybe he should say something. He hasn't left a single message in the last two days—especially after the crap Jackson pulled yesterday morning.

Holt furrows his brows at the thought.

What's his damn problem? I didn't even really DO anything—Deuce put HIS hands on me FIRST anyways!

Holt squeezes his phone in his hand, shaking his head quietly as he recounts the events from the other morning—but then he pauses again.

What if he's rationalizing this way out of proportion? What if he really did... hurt Deuce... or freak him out? And what if he didn't even think to consider such a thing because he really is just like... grandpa?

Holt tenses at the thought, his tight grip on the phone beginning to waver as his heart slowly begins to quicken in pace.

Maybe Jackson's right. Maybe I AM dange—

"Oh my god!" A familiar voice shouts from behind, followed by rapidly approaching footsteps.

Before Holt can even think to look back, a mint-green hand grabs him by the shoulder and turns him around to face her.

"Frankie?" He blurts, sounding almost out of breath as his heart only continues to hammer in his chest, "What's goin—"

"Are you okay?" Frankie exclaims, hardly allowing time for Holt to respond before she literally grabs his face, pulling him closer as she inspects him closely.

"I, uh—woah!" Holt stammers, stumbling forward as he struggles to not fall right on top of Frankie as she pulls him close, "um, yeah?" He manages to breathe out with a sheepish smile, his gaze darting in all directions as he struggles to keep from staring directly into her mismatched eyes.

"Are you sure?" She blurts, the concern in her expression yet to waver as she turns his head to the side, and then to the other side.

"I think so?" Holt answers with an arched brow as he struggles to pinpoint what exactly it is that has Frankie so frazzled over his well-being. However, a small part of him doesn't really care what exactly it is because it's actually kind of nice knowing that she cares this much about him. He may even smile a little at the thought—at least until Frankie turns his head to face him again, leaving him with no other option but to lock eyes with the ghoul.

"Is your nose okay? Does it hurt at all? Has it bled any more since lunch yesterday?" Frankie sputters, still somehow refusing to release the boy from her grasp—though he doesn't appear to be recoiling much.

That is until he starts to put the pieces together and his rather surprised expression goes sour as he frowns in distaste at the horrifically embarrassing memory playing in his head.

In times like these, Holt wishes the short-term memory loss that comes with his dual-nature would at least blur out all the bad. Yet, now that he thinks back on it, that whole incident at lunch is probably one of the very few things he can really remember from yesterday.

"Holt?"

He blinks for a moment before thinking back on her question—well, more like questions. "Oh, uh, yeah. Yeah. I'm fine, Frankie-Fine." He can't help but snicker at his poorly phrased response.

Frankie rolls her eyes, unable to hold back a grin at the silly nickname before finally removing her hands from Holt's face.

Holt actually falters slightly when she drops her hands, but he plays it off with another smile. He raises a hand to rub his cheek slightly, hoping that maybe if he thinks really hard on what it felt like to have her warm hands there holding his face, it'll almost be like she's still cradling his—

"You're sure though, right?" Frankie adds, tugging lightly at the stitches in her arm.

"Huh?" Holt retorts dumbly, blinking back into reality at the question.

"You're... okay?" She clarifies, eying Holt unsurely as she takes a small worried step closer.

"Oh! Yeah—For sure!" Holt assures with a firm nod, quickly straightening up as he brushes off invisible dust from his t-shirt, frowning at his lack of hoodie which he is yet to have seen since yesterday. He's going to have to look for that. However, he finds himself still rather lost in the whole fantasy he built up in his head.

Frankie watches him with an unsure frown for a moment before deciding to back off—for now at least. He may have lied about skipping school the other day, but at least he told her the truth—even if it was later in the day. So, why should she be worried about him lying again?

She sighs before shaking her head to herself, straightening out her plaid skirt before looking back up to Holt who fidgets idly with the wires of his crappy convenient store-bought earbuds.

The sound quality is actual garbage, but it's enough to keep Holt up and running, and as long as his focus doesn't linger on the terrible audio quality, he won't be reminded of the state of his beloved headphones.

However, the wires are quite the issue; any time he wears a pair of headphones or earbuds with any form of wires attached, he can't help but tug and fidget with them. Because of this habit, there have been multiple occasions in which Holt has accidentally tugged out an earbud or yanked off a pair of headphones, causing him to unintentionally switch out with Jackson.

Frankie takes a quick note of the fidgeting, prompting her to reach out and take Holt's hand, forcing him to blink back into reality once again.

"Sorry for bombarding you with all that," she mutters, tugging lightly on his hand in order to lure him away from the wall he leans against, "it's just... if I'm being honest, i've been really worried about you guys since yesterday." She admits sheepishly, her gaze averting long enough for her to miss the way Holt's shoulders slump at the mention of yesterday.

God, why can't we just forget about how stupid yesterday was?

Holt holds back an exaggerated groan in annoyance, wanting anything but for the subject to linger on yesterday any longer than it already has.

I mean—why can't she just care about me for... ME? Why does it always have to be when I'm doing something stup—

Before Holt can even finish his thought, a sudden pulse of pain practically rattles his skull, and he instantly lets out a hiss in pain. He abruptly squeezes Frankie's hand at the sensation as he quickly raises his free hand to his head.

Frankie's eyes widen at the sight, but she can't help but yelp when Holt is suddenly crushing her hand. Her bolts instantly spark at the pressure, sending a pulse of electricity right into Holt's hand.

"Ow!" The boy shouts, immediately yanking his hand back as he stares back up at Frankie who remains frozen in place; finding herself rather... shocked to say the least.

Then, Frankie blinks, shaking her head before she finally opens her mouth to speak, "Sorry!' she blurts, taking a hesitant step forward as her frantic eyes scan the tense boy standing before her. "Are you, um, okay?" she sputters, stifling a wince as she flexes her aching hand. The guy's got one hell of a grip.

"Yeah." Holt bites out with a frantic nod and a nervous chuckle, the pounding in his head long forgotten as he shakes his hand in the air; clenching his jaw as he struggles to dull the pain in his hand.

"Your head," she begins, taking another step forward as she reaches out with a hesitant hand, "It looked like it hurt—"

"Already told you, fire-cracker; I'm perfectly fine." He affirms, a strained smile painted across his face as he forces himself to straighten up again, awkwardly folding his arms over his chest while Frankie observes unsurely.

The green ghoul opens her mouth to protest, though before she can add her two cents, the pair jump at the sound of the bell signalling the start of the first period of the day. They then look back at each other before Frankie takes a deep breath and musters up a smile.

"We should get going," she insists, taking Holt's hand (and thankfully doesn't shock him again in the process) as she guides him down the hall.

The pair enter class just in time, although Frankie is all too quick to release his hand, which catches Holt a bit off guard; thus forcing him to glance over at her unsurely.

Frankie motions towards the instructor at his desk, and Holt's heart sinks at the sight. She doesn't really catch the way Holt's whole demeanor falters when he finds their teacher back in class, so she just sends him a friendly wave before making her way over to her assigned seat.

Holt can hardly muster up a smile as he struggles to keep from straight up puking on the floor; fighting the urge to just run out of class and hide. However, the class is starting to fill up and he's just going to draw attention to himself if he keeps standing here like a total idiot. He lets out a shaky sigh, biting down on his lower lip as he hesitantly makes his way over to his designated seat. He keeps his eyes glued to the floor, struggling to ignore the lavender eyes that burn right through him as he moves to take his seat.

He tries to sort of awkwardly cross his arms in an attempt to take up less room, scooting all the way to the left in his chair in order to avoid any possibility of touching Operetta who just so happens to be seated right next to him on the seating chart. However, even if the pair are lightyears from making any form of physical contact, Holt swears it feels like there's a pair of daggers sinking deeper and deeper into his flesh the longer her purple eyes remain rather transfixed on him.

God, does he miss his hoodie. At least even if he was still in this uncomfortable scenario, he'd have at least some form of comfort. Instead, all he has is the hem of his red, long-sleeved undershirt to fidget with.

Eventually, Holt comes to a point where he can't help but glance over in her direction—but then he immediately looks in the opposite direction, his face burning with embarrassment. He takes a funny breath, wincing slightly as a slight pressure begins in his temples, though he can't find the will to care about it when he feels like the ghoul's gaze alone will end his life within a matter of seconds.

I should just apologize.

Holt opens his mouth but then he immediately shuts it, shifting uncomfortably in his seat as the pressure in his temples only continues to worsen.

Operetta scoffs, shaking her head as she folds her arms over her chest. She moves to face forward, leaning back in her chair with a roll of her eyes and firmly knit brows.

Apologize.

Holt takes another shaky breath, turning to gawk at the red-headed girl with an expression that paints him as a nervous child walking up to the front of the grocery store because he lost his mom in the cereal aisle. He clears his throat and opens his mouth, again, but then before he can even think to get a single word out, his face scrunches up as he raises his hands to his head. He stifles the urge to hiss in pain, forcing him to clench his jaw as he struggles to keep quiet.

Operetta spares the boy a glance before turning her attention back to the front of the class.

The pressure has now progressed to painful pounding, leaving Holt to lean rather heavily against the desk, holding his head in his hands as he struggles to keep himself together. As time goes by, he finds himself slouched against the surface of the desk, his eyes barely open as he rubs his temples in an attempt to ease the pain. It doesn't take long for him to give up on keeping his eyes open, and for the brief moment that he shuts his eyes, the pounding in his skull comes to a halt and the pressure reduces to nothing. He can finally just breathe.

BRRRRRIIIIING!

Holt instantly jumps at the blaring noise, forcing him to quickly sit up in his seat. The pain and pressure immediately returns to his head, causing him to wince slightly as he glances around frantically at the students all around the room gathering their things as they all move to exit the class. He turns to Operetta seated at his side, staring dumbly as he struggles to turn his scrambled thoughts into words.

Operetta glares down at the groggy boy before disappointedly shaking her head as she exits the class. He stares helplessly as the girl leaves, and despite everything inside him screaming at him to call after her and finally take accountability for his horrendous behavior from the other day, he finds himself unable to breathe out a single word as he struggles to stifle another grimace from the pounding quickly returning to his temples.

☯︎

Deuce paces up and down the hall with his hands shoved into his pockets. He keeps his eyes peeled for Jackson; his dark shades doing a great job of hiding the worry in his eyes. He sent about three texts basically repeating the same question in different words:

Hey dude everything alright???

Everything ok dude??

Did something happen???

He texts for what seems to be the umpteenth time before glancing up from his phone to scan the halls again. He bites his lip nervously; his mind swarmed with all the billions of horrible scenarios that could be holding Jackson back from showing up to class.

Ever since last night, Deuce has been thinking about him nonstop. He's yet to put all the pieces together; still finding himself rather puzzled as to how on earth Holt managed to pop out without any music playing.

His worries only worsened though when last night, Jackson was left nearly unconscious for at least fifteen minutes after he popped back out again. His face was all damp with sweat and he could hardly keep his eyes open. Deuce had to keep him propped up against the wall in the bathroom the entire time after making some sort of excuse to block off the bathroom in order to avoid any possible onlookers.

When he finally came to, Jackson hardly recounted an ounce of what had led up to Holt's abrupt appearance. He mentioned talking to Clair for one moment and then blacking out. Clair herself tried to explain the whole situation from her own perspective, though it hadn't helped even in the slightest to refresh Jackson's memory. She sadly couldn't stay much longer, but she promised to keep in contact, leaving Deuce and Jackson to sit in awkward silence, waiting for Jackson's mom to pick them up until Jackson spoke up again.

"Please don't tell her—my mom. She'll freak out over it and then things will just be worse."

Isn't there something to freak out about if Holt randomly appeared out of thin air and you can't remember a thing? Is what Deuce wanted to say, but instead he responded with a simple nod and an "of course, dude."

The car ride wasn't any less awkward, in fact, it was possibly worse since Deuce didn't really know what to do or say. He just kept glancing at Jackson seated on the other side of the back seat who sort of kept his head hung low, occasionally rubbing his eyes or shifting in his seat while Deuce remained rather tense; fearing something awful was just waiting to happen. However, despite the awkward silence that polluted the air inside the car, the ride itself went by rather smoothly.

Deuce then spent about half an hour at home trying to figure out what the hell he had witnessed in the bathroom, and just as he grabbed his iCoffin to try and ask Jackson if he had remembered anything, the device pinged with a notification:

Hey man, I think I'm gonna head to bed for the night. My head is killing me.

And that was the last text Jackson sent since last night. Now, Deuce finds himself looking like an obsessed weirdo frantically messaging the poor boy as if his life depends on it. Although, now that he thinks back on the events of last night, he starts to worry that maybe something did happen again.

What if Holt randomly popped out again?

Deuce takes a funny breath, his heart thumping harder and faster in his chest as he only continues to assume the absolute worst. However, before he can continue freaking himself out, the final bell for second period chimes, and Jackson is still nowhere in sight.

It's almost as if the gorgon operates on auto pilot as he instantly turns in the opposite direction of the classroom and quickly heads down the hall. He distinctly recalls Jackson's—well, Holt's first period being Music Theory since a few months ago, Holt and Jackson had to get their schedules basically mish-mashed into one in order to comply with their rather complicated nature. In fact, he distinctly remembers being excited that Holt had Music Theory because it would give him a chance to get to know the guy sharing a body with his best friend. However, they ended up in two different periods which was quite a "bummer" as Deuce put it.

Deuce glances down at his phone again in hopes that he'd find a response from his friend. He frowns at the empty notifications displayed on screen, although just as he moves to turn the corner into the next hall, he collides right into a smaller student who instantly drops their backpack on the floor; its contents practically exploding as soon as it hits the floor.

"Oh jeez—I'm so sorry!" Deuce blurts, instantly dropping to the floor to gather the fallen papers when his eyes fixate on the familiar shade of green of the backpack. He glances up and his eyes widen. "Jackson? What—Are you okay? You haven't answered any of my texts, dude," the gorgon sputters as he quickly gathers Jackson's scattered belongings.

"I, uh, I'm fine." Jackson mutters, pushing his glasses up as he tucks his notebooks back into his bag.

"Why're you so late?" The gorgon questions worriedly, tucking one last paper into a folder before handing it to the human boy.

"Holt put literally everything I didn't need in here," Jackson retorts, quickly shoving his folder back into the bag before moving on to frantically zip it up, "and I guess he was already running late to begin with because I was hardly out at all before I heard the second bell." He pauses a moment to watch Deuce unsurely. "What are you doing out of class?"

"Oh, uh, bathroom." Deuce remarks with a nervous chuckle before he takes Jackson's phone from the floor, handing it to his friend before scanning the boy over. The gorgon stifles a frown at Jackson's rather... frazzled demeanor. Despite the thick lenses of his glasses, it's clear to see that the dark bags circling Jackson's eyes contrast greatly with the rest of his pale face. His hair's all messy and his shirt is dreadfully wrinkled. The poor guy looks like a total wreck—but Deuce refuses to comment on it. He's clearly had quite the morning and there's no point in making it any worse by telling him how utterly exhausted he looks.

"Thanks," the human boy mutters, taking his phone and glancing at the screen with a thoughtful frown at a new text from about an hour ago that he only now noticed.

Hey dude! Just checking in from last night. Is your head feeling any better?

Clair.

Jackson almost scoffs at the notion, though his attention drifts back to Deuce as he stands from the floor.

"We should probably get going—I heard Rotter's in a wicked mood today." Deuce remarks,"Clawd said he, like, spilled his coffee all over himself in the middle of first period," he explains, starting on his way as Jackson stands after him.

"Yeesh," Jackson replies with a frown, glancing back at his phone to quickly scan over the text again before deciding to respond to it after class since he was already running about five minutes late according to the time displayed on his phone.

It's not long before the pair arrive at the locked door of Mr. Rotter's class. Deuce knocks on the door and after a short wait, it swings open with an agitated Mr. Rotter with a sizable coffee stain on his coat.

"What were you two doing?" The older man spits out angrily, leaving the two boys to sheepishly glance at one another before turning back to their instructor. "You know my rule; five minutes and you get a slip." He instructs, pointing his finger down the hall.

Deuce quickly shakes his head, his snakes hissing under the pressure, "uh, Mr. Rotter we—"

"I don't want to hear it, Mr. Gorgon! Go get your slips or—"

"Mr. Rotter, sir, Deuce shouldn't be counted tardy." Jackson interjects, taking a brave step forward, "It's my fault for holding him up. I'll go get the slip, but he really shouldn't be counted tardy."

"Oh, so instead of going to class as you're supposed to, you two were fooling around, huh?" the teacher comments with an annoyed frown, crossing his arms over his chest.

Deuce raises a brow at the notion and Jackson quickly shakes his head before speaking up again, "No, sir, that's not at all what was going on, we weren't—"

"I don't want to hear your excuses! In fact, you two are to head straight to the Headmistress' office at once!" Almost in unison, the pair's eyes widen, but before either of them can get another word in, the door slams right in their faces.

☯︎

"It's gonna be okay, dude," Deuce tries to assure, struggling to keep up with Jackson who basically speed walks down the hall while frantically typing away into his iCoffin. "I'm sure Bloodgood will understand," the gorgon reassures with a worried frown.

"That's not even the problem!" Jackson exclaims, "My mom is gonna ask why I was sent to the office and I'm gonna have to tell her that Holt was screwing off again—and then she won't let me hang out with you guys on Friday, or go with you anywhere," he frantically sputters, "or do anything!" he concludes, throwing his arms in the air for extra emphasis before staring back up at Deuce with wide eyes as if his frazzled tone wasn't enough to emphasize how dire the situation clearly is.

Deuce blinks at the sudden outburst, going quiet for a moment as he struggles to put his thoughts into words. Jackson quickly averts his gaze, his face going red in embarrassment, prompting the gorgon to quickly step forward again, setting a hesitant hand on the shorter boy's shoulder. "I promise it's gonna be okay, dude. We'll find a way to work this all out," he insists with a firm nod, giving the guy's shoulder a small squeeze.

Jackson sighs, briefly removing his glasses to rub his face before awkwardly fumbling with his phone in his hand. "Thanks, man," he manages to mutter, though he finds it hard to look his friend in the eyes.

"Of course, dude," Deuce replies with a warm smile before starting back on his way, prompting the shorter of the pair to follow down the hall.

Jackson glances back at his phone and quickly hits send on the message he had typed out. He nearly tucks his phone back into his pocket before remembering the text he had received from Clair. However, before he can even think of what to respond with, he glances up from his phone and blinks in surprise when he finds a familiar face waiting outside the principal's office.

"Heath?" Deuce blurts in surprise, catching the attention of a lanky boy with yellow-tinted skin, dark red hair, and a face full of freckles outside the office; causing him to straighten up at the sight of the pair before him.

"What the hell are you doing here, Heath?" Jackson questions in a scolding tone, shoving his phone into his pocket before approaching the boy who groans in annoyance, sinking back into the bench with a dramatic roll of his eyes.

"What's it to you four-eyes?" Heath retorts agitatedly, pointing an accusatory finger to Jackson who stands before him with his arms folded over his chest and his brows knit angrily.

"Guys, come on," Deuce groans, walking up to the pair with a frown painted over his face.

"What are you guys even doing here?" Heath replies, hardly acknowledging Deuce's words as his eyes go back and forth between the pair standing before him.

"I'm asking you the same thing, flame-brain!" Jackson bites out, looking seconds from nearly tackling the damn boy before him.

Deuce rolls his eyes before letting out a sigh, "alright, here we go again," he steps forward and sits right beside Heath. "Scoot over, loser," he grumbles, and the redhead complies, rolling his eyes as he sits back against the wall. "Now you," he continues, pointing to Jackson, "sit right here," he orders, patting the empty spot beside him on the bench.

Jackson glares at Heath one last time before letting out an agitated sigh, rolling his eyes again before sinking into the empty spot beside his friend.

"See? Isn't this nice? The three of us, just sitting here, hanging out, not fighting." Deuce tries to offer some sort of optimism towards the clearly unfavorable situation, prompting Jackson to give another roll of his eyes.

"I dunno," Heath begins, shifting in his seat, "I can still smell Jackson from all the way over here," he comments with a dramatic gag before throwing a shit-eating grin in Jackson's direction.

"You're so stupid," Jackson grumbles, crossing his arms as he turns in the opposite direction with a shake of his head.

"Guys, come on—do we really have to do this right now?" Deuce groans, sinking back in his chair as he hangs his head back.

"Oh come on, Deuce! I have no idea how you can sit next to him with that normie-stench," Heath snickers, dramatically pinching his nose while continuing to grin over at Jackson.

"At least I don't smell like a bonfire!" Jackson retorts angrily, whipping around to face Heath with a deadly glare.

"At least I'm not stupid!" Heath bites out, sticking his tongue out at Jackson.

"Heath, you're literally failing two classes!" The human boy exclaims, staring at the redhead as if he sprouted out a third arm.

"That's not true! I bumped my Algebra grade back to a C!" Heath argues angrily.

Deuce decides that his efforts as a living barrier between the two could only do so much considering the two are practically climbing over him in order to get in eachother's faces. The gorgon drags his hands down his face, his snakes hissing and squirming in annoyance as Heath and Jackson only continue to chew each other out. It's not long before he finally just moves to stand from the bench, letting the two go at it while he waits impatiently to be let into the office.

He scans the halls absentmindedly, leaning against the wall with a bored expression until his gaze lands on an idle student passing the hall. At first, he doesn't really think much of the kid, however, the longer he watches the student, the sooner he notices that there's considerably loud music blasting from the iCoffin held in their hand. The gorgon's eyes instantly widen before he quickly turns to Jackson who's far too busy arguing with his cousin to even consider his surroundings.

"Jackson!" he blurts, frantically reaching out to shake the human boy's shoulder in an attempt to grab his attention. Jackson turns around and stares up at Deuce with an arched brow in confusion, though before the gorgon can even open his mouth to explain, the student passes the trio, and Jackson's eyes instantly widen.

He isn't really given much time to do anything but to try and slap his hands over his ears, however, the human boy doesn't move fast enough, and within a matter of seconds, he's engulfed in blue-tinted flames. Both Heath and Deuce back away, but unlike Deuce, Heath watches with a wide grin in excitement.

Holt quickly straightens up and pulls off Jackson's glasses, folding them up before glancing left and then right as he struggles to grasp his surroundings. His eyes instantly fixate on the blurred image of Deuce, but before he can even think to run away, Heath is engulfing him in a huge hug.

"Oh, thank God!" Heath exclaims before quickly pulling away, "You came out at just the right time—Jackson is so annoying!" the redhead explains in a dramatic tone as he rolls his eyes.

"You could say that again," Holt comments with a snicker, grinning at his cousin's excitement before reaching into his pocket to grab his phone, quickly plugging in his cheap earbuds. "So, uh," he taps shuffle on a random playlist, tucking his phone back into his pocket, "what am I, uh," he glances back at Deuce, stifling a frown as his mind wanders back to the events of last night, "doing... here?"

Just as Deuce opens his mouth to explain, the door to the principal's office opens. The three all turn to face a tall woman with tied up dark hair and bangs emerging from the door, straightening her long, dark purple coat as her black boots click-clack with each step she takes.

"Gorgon and Jekyll?" she calls in a stern tone, scanning the three outside the door before her brow arches at the blue boy seated at the bench, "or... Hyde?" She comments unsurely before moving to hold the door open, "Why don't you two take a seat in my office?" she instructs, motioning for the pair to enter.

Holt glances around unsurely before grabbing Jackson's green backpack from the floor and reluctantly follows Deuce into the office.

Heath watches the pair enter the office, prompting him to stand after them, "Headmistress? What about—"

"You wait out here, Mr. Burns. I'll meet with you in a moment," the woman instructs firmly, pointing to the bench for the boy to sit back down before shutting the door to her office.

Holt bounces his leg on the floor after sinking into one of the two seats placed before the big desk at the center of the room. He scrolls through his phone, idly chewing his lip while he tries with all his might to keep from looking at Deuce who's seated right beside him in the other chair. He can totally feel the gorgon's gaze searing into him even with those red-rimmed shades shielding his green eyes.

"Holt—" Deuce begins, though he shuts his mouth the very second the door to the office shuts.

The pair instantly sit up, watching eerily as the headmistress makes her way to her desk. She sits in her big green chair, adjusting her collar before quite literally removing her head from her shoulders and setting it on the surface of the desk before her.

"So, why did Mr. Rotter send you two here on this fine morning?" The woman—rather, her head inquires, her hands folding in her lap as her body leans back into the chair.

Holt glances up at the headmistress, then he looks over at Deuce with an unsure frown, entirely lost on how to answer the question.

Maybe Jackson left a message.

"Well, I was kinda waiting outside of class to see if Jackson was showing up today cause I, uh, hadn't really spoken to him much today," Deuce begins, prompting Holt to hold back from pulling out his phone as he eyes the gorgon unsurely, "and I just, um," he shifts in his seat, fumbling with his hands in his lap, "I wanted to make sure everything was okay, that's all. So, I was kinda late."

The headmistress hums thoughtfully, her head nodding from the desk before her gaze shifts to Holt who's looking rather troubled as he struggles to jog his memory. "So, what about you, Mr. Hyde?"

"Oh. Well," Holt straightens up in his seat, stifling a frown at the name as his eyes begin wandering around the room as he lets out a nervous chuckle. "I was, uh... " he runs a hand through his hair. "Well, you know, Headmistress Bloodgood, that's a great question, because I actually have no idea why I'm here." Holt admits with a sheepish grin and a shrug.

Before Headmistress Bloodgood can respond, the three jump in unison at the abrupt sound of an alarm going off. A fire alarm to be exact.

Deuce and Holt both turn to each other at almost the exact same time with this look of sort of... understanding.

Then in unison, they both grumble: "Heath."

☯︎

Holt stares down at his phone screen, raising the volume as high as he can in order to block out the blaring sound of the fire alarm radiating from the school. It doesn't take long before the entire student body is outside, waiting for the OK to head back inside.

Turns out, during the very short time Holt and Deuce spent in Bloodgood's office, Heath set the whole bulletin board outside the office on fire with a single sneeze. Knowing Heath, that probably led to a whole chain of events resulting in the massive fire that erupted in the hallway outside the office. Things like this tend to happen quite often with guys like Heath being enrolled at Monster High, so the bored expressions painted over the teens littering the courtyard of the school is not much of a surprise.

Holt keeps himself busy by switching through songs, glancing around for any green snakes that could be approaching him to ask about whatever the hell that whole thing was that happened last night in the bathroom. If you ask Holt, he has 'no idea' what happened—because he's decided to just forget the event entirely. In fact, he's officially decided that anything and everything that happened yesterday just didn't happen at all.

He grimaces slightly, raising a hand to rub his head for a moment as he continues to glance around the courtyard—just to be safe of course. It doesn't take long though for Holt to spot the familiar red-rimmed shades all the way near the front of the crowd, talking to Headmistress Bloodgood of all people, which gets the fiery-haired boy thinking... maybe he should have tried talking to her a bit longer considering he had no idea what was going on, and that fact alone was probably going to get Jackson in more trouble on top of... whatever it is he did to get sent to the principal's office.

Despite the fear of getting Jackson into more trouble Holt holds back from approaching the pair near the front of the crowd. Worst case he could talk to the Headmistress later—or Jackson could just handle his own issues on... his own.

Thankfully, it doesn't take too long before everyone returns to class, yet, the only message Holt has from Jackson reads:

Going to bloodgood's office. Shouldn't take long. -j

and that really isn't that much to work with. So, he figures he could just roam the halls until next period. However, before he can continue on his own, a hand lands on his shoulder, prompting him to turn around. He blinks in surprise when he finds Headmistress Bloodgood standing before him.

"I wanted to inform you, Mr. Hyde," Holt stifles a wince at the name, "Mr. Gorgon explained everything, so you and Jackson are excused from the tardy, but I advise you two to try and be more on time next time." She recommends with a kind smile, although Holt blinks in surprise at the news.

"Oh, well, uh, thanks, Ms. Bloodgood—will do." Holt replies with a firm nod, fidgeting with the strap of his backpack slung against his shoulder before turning to head off on his way.

"Hey! Wait up!" A familiar voice calls after the blue boy, prompting him to pause his pace and turn to see a familiar head of squirming snakes.

"Did she let you off the hook?" Deuce queries, giving Holt a look over who quickly averts his gaze as he nods to the question.

"Uh, yeah." He mutters, running a hand through his hair as he shifts his weight from foot to foot. "Thanks for, uh," he glances up at Deuce before quickly dropping his gaze back to his shoes, "telling her... whatever you told her." He concludes with a shrug before turning to continue to walk.

"Oh, it's no problem, man," Deuce replies, following alongside Holt who surprisingly doesn't oppose the company.

The pair walk a short distance before the gorgon speaks up again, "Those, uh, playlists you sent me were really cool," he comments, shoving his hands into his pockets, "you have some great taste."

"Oh, uh, thanks." Holt replies with a small smile, rubbing the back of his neck as he glances over at Deuce for a short moment.

"I don't think I have nearly as great taste as you do, but if you're interested, I can always send you some of the stuff I've been listening to." The gorgon offers with a shrug.

"Yeah, that'll be cool," Holt nods, switching through songs as they walk, "you have my Critter, so just send them any time."

A comfortable lapse of silence falls amongst the two, allowing the pair to walk quietly as they approach Holt's locker.

"I, uh, also wanted to ask you something," Deuce speaks up, prompting Holt to pause in the middle of inputting his locker combination, "about yesterday." The gorgon clarifies, but just as he opens his mouth to continue, Holt quickly opens his locker, any sign of a smile completely vanished from his face.

"I don't wanna talk about it." The redhead grumbles, yanking his backpack out of his locker before frantically moving to switch the contents of his own backpack with Jackson's.

"But, I just, uh, so much happened I just, I wanted to know—" Deuce winces when Holt slams the locker shut.

"I am not talking about it." Holt growls through grit teeth, throwing Deuce a warning glare before turning away to quietly rub his temple in an attempt to ease the spike of pain pulsating in his skull.

"Hey, Deuce," a familiar voice calls, approaching the two, instantly prompting Holt to turn around.

The voice happens to belong to none other than Operetta, causing the blue boy to tense at the sight.

"Holt." She throws him a glare when she mentions his name before turning back to Deuce with a kind smile.

The gorgon raises a brow in confusion, glancing back at Holt who still remains rather stunned at Operetta's presence before turning back to the girl herself. "Did something... happen?"

"Hm? I dunno, did somethin' happen, Holt?" Operetta queries, throwing Holt another deadly glare, thus causing him to shift uncomfortably under the pressure

He grunts slightly, clenching his jaw as he averts his gaze, struggling to ignore the growing pounding in his head.

"Are you okay, dude?" Deuce asks in a hushed tone, hesitantly approaching the boy with a worried frown.

"I'm fine." Holt hisses, forcing himself to straighten up despite the pounding rattling his skull.

"Hmph," Operetta scoffs, rolling her eyes before turning her attention back to Deuce who remains rather lost in the silent battle playing out amongst the two before him. "Well, I was just gonna ask if you wanted to make a head start to class. Mr. Where's playin' a movie today." Operetta explains with a shrug, acting as if Holt wasn't ever there to begin with.

"Uh," Deuce throws another uncertain glance at Holt who keeps his gaze averted and maintains a rather uncharacteristically silent demeanor. "I mean, I guess." He replies with a shrug.

"Great! Then we best head on our way," she declares, taking Deuce's arm before leading him down the hall.

Holt finds himself basically standing in their dust, watching the pair with furrowed brows and a frown. He can't really tell if he's sad or mad.

Smad.

He waits until the pair are out of sight before whipping around to punch his locker door, instantly yanking his fist back to rub his knuckles as he glares at the unmoved door.

"Screw you." He grumbles at the locker before turning away, quickly wiping his eyes before wincing at another jolt of pain sent through his skull.

This week sucks.

☯︎

Jackson drops his and Holt's backpacks on the floor of the passenger seat, shutting the car door before sinking into the seat with a tired sigh.

"How was school?" His mother inquires, pulling out of the school parking lot as she spares a short glance to her son.

"It was alright, I guess," he replies with a shrug, rubbing his eyes before adjusting his glasses.

"Well, that sounds like fun," she tries to jest with a small smile.

"Sure was," Jackson grumbles, thinking back on his rather uneventful day—unless he counts that whole interaction with Heath—and the fact that he sort of disappeared for a while after that.

Deuce explained the whole fire drill Jackson had missed out on, though that hasn't kept him from wondering what trouble Holt could've gotten them into. Especially after last night, considering he recalls literally nothing leading up to Holt's sudden appearance.

Jackson frowns at the thought, chewing his lip as he begins to recall the whole fiasco with waking up in the bathroom while Deuce was holding him up against the wall. He felt so gross and sweaty—not to mention the fact that he was literally on the dirty floor of the bathroom—and his head hurt like crazy. Almost right on cue, a jolt of pain is sent through his head, causing him to grimace.

"Are you okay?" Ms. Jekyll instantly asks, turning to her son with wide eyes in worry, her grip tightening on the steering wheel.

Jackson quickly nods, although this time, he finds it hard to force himself to straighten up and brush off the stupid ache in his head. "Just a headache," he manages to mutter, rubbing his temple with a wince.

"We're gonna have to get you some pain killers when we get home—do you have any water with you?"

"No—but I'll be okay—it's already going away," he struggles to assure, sitting up in his seat.

"Are you sure? Nothing else hurts?"

"I'm probably just a little tired from school, mom. It's nothing." He reassures with a firm nod, straightening his glasses again.

"Okay, just make sure to let me know if there's anything else wrong." Ms. Jekyll practically pleads, glancing over her son again as she struggles to keep her eyes on the road.

"Mom... '' Jackson groans, staring over at his mom with an agitated frown.

"What? Am I not allowed to care about my son?" She retorts with an arched brow.

Jackson only rolls his eyes, leaning against the car door while he gazes idly out the window at the cars passing by. He notes the orange and brown leaves scattered along the sides of the road, and he frowns at the naked tree branches poking into the sky. He can't really put his finger on exactly why, but the sight of such a thing makes him uncomfortable.

He shifts his gaze from outside the window, glancing over at his mother who has her gaze focused on the road before her. Then he drops his gaze in his lap, his eyes narrowing as he begins to note this sort of reddish color to his knuckles. He rubs the discolored area, frowning when he begins to notice the slight pain in his fist.

Did Holt ... PUNCH  something?

His eyes widen.

Someone?

"Mom?" He speaks up, biting his lip as he mulls over whether or not proceeding with the question would be a good idea.

"Hm?" She replies quietly, tapping her fingers on the wheel after pulling up to a stop light.

"You remember when we went to the, uh, mad pediatrician a couple months ago?" He begins, glancing over at his mother who nods; prompting him to continue, "well, uh, you know how he said I'm, like, prone to change?" She nods again, "how soon, or, like, often do you think that change is supposed to happen?"

Ms. Jekyll raises a brow at the question, turning to her son before continuing to drive when the red light flicks to green. "Well... that's kind of a hard question to answer." She begins, sucking on her inner cheek before continuing, "You know, when Henry—or—your grandfather, created the formula, the first ever change documented was when his transformations started to occur on their own; without the formula."

Jackson nods, watching his mother thoughtfully as she speaks.

"I, or well, I guess we," she rephrases, placing her hand to her chest for clarification, "never really had a trigger change." She admits, glancing over at Jackson who listens intently, "You and Holt are really the only ones who've experienced such a dramatic change besides your grandfather, and considering he never really lived long enough to document any other changes, it's kinda hard to tell what to expect from you two in the future." She tries to explain with another shrug.

Meanwhile, Jackson sinks back into his seat with a conflicted frown, mulling over his mother's words as he struggles to come up with some sort of response.

Ms. Jekyll glances over to her son with a small frown, going quiet for a moment before speaking up, "that's not to say that's a bad thing, though." She tries to assure, "you and Holt are nothing like Henry and Edward—you two are quite different from me too." She tries to explain, "It's almost like... over the generations... the Hyde heritage is almost, like, adapting; or changing—for the better."

Jackson nods silently, still rather stumped with how to respond. It's a lot to take in at once.

"Do you think it's changing any time soon, though?" Ms. Jekyll inquires.

"What?" Jackson blurts dumbly, looking at his mom with an arched brow in confusion.

"Your trigger—do you feel like it's gonna change?" She tries to clarify.

"Oh—No, no, I just... I've been thinking about it a lot. Ever since our appointment actually." He admits quietly, sinking back into his chair, "it's just kinda... unnerving not knowing when or how or why something so... impactful could change."

His mother nods understandably, "that's true, but you two have managed pretty well for only knowing about each other for two months. You guys even have functioning schedules." She notes with a smile, "it took me years to get to a stable point like you two."

Jackson hums thoughtfully, looking up from his lap as the car pulls into the driveway.

"Do you guys have a lot of homework?"

"Not really, why?" Jackson replies, pulling the two backpacks out from the car as he begins to make his way towards the front door.

"You two need to get to packing." She informs, locking the car before following Jackson up the driveway to the door.

Jackson furrows his brows in confusion, looking at his mom with uncertainty. "What? Why?"

Ms. Jekyll turns to her son with an arched brow before unlocking the door, "you're going to your father's for the weekend." She states as if it were obvious.

Jackson stares down at the ground with wide eyes.

How could he forget?