Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

All he wants is time.

With the amount of homework piling on his desk at home, not to mention how many are long overdue and some half-ripped, Gregg's certain his dad will pull him out of public school and right back to a clean, social-free homeschooling environment.

Oh how wrong his 2AM brain was!

Instead of practically treating his in-home schooldays as a vacation, knowing his dad’s fussy over his efforts instead of any real work, he's still making him go to school! And on a Friday, his most favorite of days!

“Greggory, you need to go to school,” his dad warns, shoving him right out the front door and throwing him a heavy grey backpack.

“But why, Dad?” Gregg whines with his ears flat against his head, dragging out the 'y' while pouting. Tugging the straps over his shoulders, he wonders if his dad stuffed it with bricks. Or was it always this heavy and his muscles just chose to give up on him?

When the only answer he gets in return is his dad slamming the door and locking it, he wonders why he even thought the guy will reconsider.

Walking to school's next on his mind, right after deciding how much work he’d need to make excuses about.

Or it would’ve been the plan had the bus not come up to a nice, slow-rolling stop in front of him. The penguin at the wheel still looks as old as he remembers!

With the doors opening, Gregg pretends to gag from imaginary dust bits coming off them. For some reason the driver gives him a stink eye for it, to which he sticks his tongue out at them.

“Get in,” is all he needs to hear before climbing in.

Gregg’s eyes scan through each seat he passes while walking down the aisle, mentally crossing his fingers in hopes a free seat by the window will pop up.

“Foxie!”

Well fuck those dreams.

“Ahaha-” Gregg sucks in a breath at the sudden pull into a seat, sitting up as soon as his back hits whatever the bag has hidden away in it. He’d check, but that's too much work for one bus ride! “Heey, uh…”

The crocodile staring at him with a stupid grin is none other than-

“Steve, for fuck’s sake, that was supposed to be our seat!”

Some goat raises a fist at Gregg’s friend, the one and only Steve Scriggins, before pulling along a pretty scared-looking teen to a seat right across from them.

Gregg pushes his back against the seat. He knows better than to get in the middle of pretty much anything involving Steve, especially if yelling’s involved.

“When you two chicks drop out of wrestling and do something you can ACTUALLY do, you can have your seat back!” Steve yells, leaning right in front of Gregg’s face.

Glancing at the ones in question, the goat looks pissed before turning away from them, and their friend sounds worried.

“Jackie, it’s-” is about as much he hears coming out of the scaredy-scale’s mouth, everything else's way too hush-hush for the fox’s ears to pick up on.

They look like Steve, and unless Gregg sucks bad at species-guessing, then that means they have to be another crocodile! He never thought only one kind of person of one kind of species can exist. Hell, his fox-only family is a prime example!

But it gives him a weird impulse. One of those energy-bursting impulses that makes him wanna flap his hands, wag his tail, and-

-his face smacks the aisle floor hard.

────────────────────────

Everything looks so.. bright?

Is this one of those afterlife things his dad said was impossible for him to reach?

Maybe his dad should’ve warned him about being gently slapped on the nose in the afterlife.

“Um.”

The room looks all blurry and bright when Gregg opens his eyes. The walls are white and boring, even the floor, and-

Wow!

What else can top a bland room than a neat handful of encouraging ‘hang in there’ posters with a possum dangling off a tree branch!

“You look angry.”

Fuck, did he glare at one of the possum-dangling posters a little too obviously?

Shaking his head, only to instantly regret the pang hitting him, Gregg tries holding his paws out above his lap and focuses on them. He doesn't feel like he's hyperventilating, and he definitely doesn't feel wetness in the eyes. So, what happened?

“Heaven..?” he whispers. What other logical answer is there?

“Music room.”

“Music..?” Fuck Gregg, at least say more than one word!

Once his paws don't look blurry as all hell, Gregg lifts his gaze to meet a bear looking his way. A bear with funny-looking glasses.

Keep the kinda-insult to yourself, Gregg.

“You, um, passed out on the bus,” they start to explain, and he's all ears. “A crocodile dragged you out, and.. left you on the ground.”

Instead of just Steve coming to mind, a brief flicker of the other crocodile on the bus ride crosses his mind.

“Were they with a goat?” Gregg asks. “Or do you know their name or something?”

“Goat?” they parrot. “Um. No goat.”

So Steve then. Unless some random third crocodile wanted to play hero for a good five seconds by dragging a fox stranger off the bus.

“Wait wait wait wait.” Gregg lets his brain sit with the new information for a good ten seconds before thinking of questions.

“Y-”

“How’d I get here if I was in the bus all passed out?”

“...”

“...”

“I carried you.”

“Ah.”

Glancing at the bear’s paws, they're fiddling with a string around their thumb. Have they always been doing that and he just noticed?

“So-”

Gregg doesn't let them finish that attempt of a sentence, waving his paws to stop them. “Where’s my backpack??”

“...”

“...”

“Crocodile took it.”

“Oh.”

C’mon, don’t sink back into one-word replies!

After clearing his throat, and taking a few seconds to avoid choking on his own saliva from doing that, Gregg stands and eyes the door to head out. “I’ll be off then! Classes and all that junk!”

Note to self, get vengeance against Steve later.

Just as he goes to grab the handle, it wiggles and Gregg jumps back. He does NOT need to get knocked out twice in one day!

But it's locked.

And whoever’s knocking sounds kinda pissed about that.

“Is someone in there?!” they yell, banging a fist on the door. “I have a job to do, you know!”

The bear sitting on the floor where Gregg woke up from doesn't make any moves to open the door. They just stare at him.

So, he doesn't move either. And he stares back.

Seems like two brains come to life when they hear a jingling of keys and both of them rush to press against the door with every fiber in their being!

Gregg feels instant regret - is it becoming a pattern? - when he and the other teen fall face-first to the floor when a scary-looking bird man with a mop and keys swings the door open.

Ohh fuck. I recognize that mop anywhere!

“Janitor!” Gregg shouts, or maybe screams, as he hops up to his feet and wraps his arms around the poor sucker.

Janitor bops the top of his head with the wooden end of the mop. When that doesn't work, he uses that end to shove - with some struggle - the energetic fox away from him.

Gregg's content with getting his probably-one-time-for-the-day Janitor Hug, so he lets himself be pushed away, feeling smug he has the privilege to do something like that. He has to be the coolest guy there for being literal best friends with the school’s only janitor!

Maybe Steve will think twice next time before ditching his friend on the sidewalk! In his face!

“Delaney, is this kid causing trouble for you?” Janitor turns to the bear in question, who's holding glasses without the lenses. Where’d those go?

“No,” they answer, shaking their head and standing up slowly. He doesn't know why, but seeing them upset makes Gregg feel some kind of guilt. Or it's just hunger.

No, no, it's definitely guilt. Hunger makes him feel kinda good, not super bad.

“Good then,” Janitor tips his hat and leans the mop against the wall by the door when he enters the so-called ‘music room’. Turning to the pair, he raises his.. feathers? Wing? Birds are complicated! And this grumpy bird looks right at Gregg. “Don’t cause trouble, kid.”

Then he shuts the door and locks it up. No more music room for either of them.

“So,” Gregg begins, being rudely interrupted by a bell ringing through the halls to let everyone know the halls are ready to be crowded and absolute danger-everywhere zones. “Uhh! What class d’ya have, Delaney?”

“Oh!” They shrug off their bag from their shoulders, swiping out a book-looking file thing and bringing out a paper. Gregg sees the words ‘classes’ and assumes it’s the same paper the principal gives all first-day students each year.

The same paper Gregg totally never discards every single time he gets one.

And he totally isn't brushed up against the other to look at their schedule.

“Soooooooooooo?”

“So.” They take a full minute studying the schedule like some exam they got a pop quiz on, tucking the paper back into the full folder-thing and sealing it away into their backpack. “I have to meet with the Cross Country team.”

“Cross Country team?” Gregg blinks. “What’s that mean?”

That weird hunger-guilt combined feeling feels a little better when he catches a bright glint in the bear’s eyes. He digs people with passion, even if he doesn't get it himself.

Gregg’s ears fall back when he feels someone drag him away, leaving him to wave at his new friend as crowds of students finally fill the halls with all kinds of things and words and laughs.

He didn’t even get to hear about Cross Country!

“You look bitchy,” Mae tells him as soon as she drags him into their Safe Room. It's not really theirs theirs, but needless to say, it became theirs and they have a lot of ways to keep others from using it.

Plus, Janitor has his own closet, so he doesn't need theirs. And he's pretty onboard with Gregg and Mae turning this one into their Safe Room, even if it’s got some more room than the one Janitor said is fine with him.

“You smell like a rat,” Gregg retorts, once his head's working again. He leans into his beanbag chair while Mae settles in hers; orange and black respectively.

“I wish you died in that crowd of kids.”

Gregg scrunches his nose at that. “I wish those rats you’re feeding give you enough rat bites to make your fur fall out.”

Mae crosses her arms. “I hope your legs get bent backwards-”

“Yeah? Well-”

“Not done!” She makes a tsk noise at him. “-and got all your bones crushed by everyone’s gross feet walking all over you.”

“Ew.” Gregg gags at that. Barely. “I hope your teeth fall out next time you eat a really good pizza and all pizza slices you see have bugs crawling all over them!”

Mae kicks his knee with her foot, shaking her head at even the thought of something like that. Gregg felt grossed out by it too as soon as those words left his mouth, but he has no regrets! No one can best Gregg at this game! Not even his best friend!

“Mean!” he whines. Gregg brings his knees to his chest and holds them there, pouting and giving the saddest puppy dog eyes he can.

She sticks her tongue out. “Deserved!”

The sounds of disgusting teenage youth - maybe Gregg's being a hypocrite, sue him! - trampling the halls came to a beautiful halt. Not a single sound of footsteps in some kind of radius.

Pressing his ear right up against the door is the worst thing he could’ve done while having Mae in the closet with him.

Because seconds after he does, his ever-so polite best friend delightedly opens the door to let him fall flat to the ground. At least he lands on his side and only messes up his shoulder somewhat! Not a faceplant, but a sideplant! A shoulderplant even!

“Holy shit.”

Gregg never thought life will throw him into one of those cliché moments he’s seen in movies.

The one type of scene where a clumsy protagonist falls in front of their crush, only to swoon when their crush catches them on instinct.

What he really never expected is to fall on top of that crocodile he remembers from the bus. And by the glaring from the goat, whose sleeves are rolled up, Gregg guesses his survival rate just dropped to about 0%.

Chapter Text

The Santellos are busy with running the Ol’ Pickaxe, a hardware store Bea’s parents co-own together, to the point they last-minute assign one of the workers — Danny — to take their daughter to school.

Bea’s literally a senior, an adult senior, and they still believed she should have some kind of escort for ‘safety’ or whatever.

It’s not like she’s defenseless or anything either! She has a cross necklace worn around her neck, close to her heart, and she’s taking wrestling lessons with Jackie — her best friend. They were unstoppable together and apart, even with some of Bea’s doubts.

Danny, the only coffee-loving feline she knew, worked with her parents at the hardware store for about a year or two. They have a lot of respect for him and he feels the same back, but Bea feels somewhere in warm waters with her co-worker.

Sure, they work together since Mrs. Santello refuses to let her daughter sit around useless without doing something productive. And sure, Danny recently got fired from some construction job.

Yet for some reason, if she has to choose staying at the Ol’ Pickaxe or driving with the quiet feline to school or to get supplies for work, Bea doesn’t doubt she’d pick the latter.

Hitting the brakes all of a sudden, she feels Danny tap her on the shoulder from the passenger seat. Even though he’s apparently held in ‘high regards’ by her parents, both of them refuse to let anyone but them or Bea’s friends they know sit close to her. Again, something about keeping her safe.

“Home drive?” he signs. Bea learns most of her sign language from either Danny, or Google in her free time. She still forgets a lot of words no matter how much she practices, but hey, at least she’s trying.

Her mom resorts to yelling at him as if he’s hard-of-hearing, and her dad just makes hand gestures which leads to more confusion than if they took the time to talk to him like a real person.

Tugging out the keys from the ignition to let the engine drift to sleep and passing them off to Danny, Bea puts a hand on her door and meets his eyes again.

“I take bus home,” she signs back with a nod. For a second, she worries she fucked up somehow, but the thumbs up from the feline’s all she needs before stepping out and shutting the door.

She would have driven all the way to school, something she’s done before, but she also likes spending a whole bus ride with Jackie just.. vibing, listening to some shitty old radio station the driver plays sometimes.

And speak of the devil, here comes the bus.

Not to mention her rebellious goat friend running from the other direction.

Jackie nearly shoves Bea to the ground before both catch themselves, giggles bubbling from their throats. They’re not kids, but it doesn’t mean they’re not allowed to have fun!

“What’s happenin’, Bea?” Jackie nudges her friend with one of those cheery lights in her eyes. It feels good having her here.

“Well-”

Bea cringes at the weird squeaking when the bus doors open before them. She doesn’t say anything about it when she hops in, holding her bag strap over her shoulder, as she lets Jackie guide her through the chaos that is a bus of teenage animals.

She bumps her snout against her friend’s back when Jackie suddenly stops to scream at someone — a crocodile like her, leaning over a fox to yell back.

“Steve, for fuck’s sake, that was supposed to be our seat!”

Bea refrains from covering her ears with her claws, considering that’d probably pick at her scales if she even tries, while hearing the other crocodile say something that ticks Jackie off even more.

“Jackie,” she whispers. She tries again, clearing her throat so she’s a little louder for her friend to hear and sits down in a free seat across from so-called Steve. “Jackie, it’s okay. He’s just trying to work you up because he’s insecure.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jackie dismisses it with a simple wave with her hoof, but Bea can tell she still feels frustrated over what Steve said. What Steve always says to them.

Bea wants to go tell a teacher or the weird janitor, whose name is even Janitor, but Jackie insists no one’s going to help them if they don’t handle the problem themselves. Responsibility and ‘owning up to The Man’ were some of the things she says about it.

Sometimes, Jackie reminds her of her mother. And Bea doesn’t know if she should feel better for it, or worse.

Just when the bus screeches to a stop, Jackie leaves with Steve tagging behind her to have another argument, and Bea — one of the few in the back waiting for everyone up front to get out — notices the same fox Steve sat next to, except he’s on the ground. Very unconscious, too.

She’s never tried to drag someone other than Jackie before, but her friend’s always been conscious when she’s done so. Bea debates what to do for a while before she settles on being decent enough to carry the fox against her shoulder. Mostly for the sake of the driver to be able to leave and not wait for him to wake up.

“You coming, Bea?” Jackie calls.

“Yeah!” Bea half-yells back, not wanting to wake up the fox. She lays him on the ground carefully, in the grass and away from the road and sidewalk. She thought for sure he had a backpack and asked the driver to let her search for it just in case, but nothing. So she gets off, her own bag clutched tight in one claw, and she leaves, hoping the fox will wake up for at least one class.

────────────────────────

Bea catches up with Jackie and Steve, who has.. two backpacks? “Why’d you bring two bags, Steve?”

Steve snorts and goes to rub a knuckle on her head, but Jackie blocks him with a hoof and a glare. “Buzzkill,” he tells her, shuffling to hold the extra bag over one shoulder while his own is on the other. “Beebs-”

Jackie hits the back of his head. “Don’t call her that.”

Steve rubs the spot she hit him, rolling his eyes. Bea knows it hurts, even if he won’t show it. “-Whatever. It’s not mine.”

“Not.. yours? Then why do you have it?” Bea huffs. Did he just snatch something from a freshman? From the Lost & Found maybe? “You should return it to its rightful owner.”

“Because your Sky Daddy wants me to?” Steve laughs, flicking Bea’s cross with one claw. She snaps her teeth at him and he pulls away, still laughing. He barely notices - or cares - that Jackie’s glaring at him. “Beebs, chill. Y’know that fox I was sitting with? It’s his.”

Jackie stops when she finds her locker in a row of them, kicking it open and hanging up her backpack. “And you stole his shit to be a bigger douchebag or what?”

Steve bats his eyes and slams his head against his locker to open it, dropping the fox’s bag to his foot and messily chucking his own into the locker. “Aww, you know me so well, Jacklyn!”

Bea hits a fist against hers to open it, not her fault most of the school’s lockers get jammed. She hangs up her bag and unzips it, stacking books for later classes on the little shelf above the hanger. “You gonna give it back to him?”

“Yeah man, obviously I’m gonna return it!” Steve hisses as if anything he does is supposed to be obvious. He has one book and one notebook in his arms because of course he’s not going to actually bring anything important to class. “He’s my best friend for fuck’s sake!”

The three of them start walking; Steve with one book and notebook, Jackie with a notebook, and Bea with two books and two notebooks.

“You sure you’re just friends?” Jackie’s teasing, and Bea knows this. It doesn’t make her feel better hearing it though. “Not secretly playing sword fights in the bathroom?”

Steve flips her off and Jackie laughs. Bea probably would too if she found it funny. “As if you’re one to talk, Little Miss Fucks-a-Lot.”

“You’re both gross,” Bea mumbles, hoping she’s speaking quietly enough that neither hear her. She doesn’t know if Steve does, but he wraps an arm around her all of a sudden.

“Beebs! When are you gonna lose your fragile V-card?”

“Don’t ask her that, jackass!” Jackie scolds him, whacking his shoulder with a notebook. “If she does or when she does, it ain’t your business and it ain’t mine either!”

“Or you two are doing each other,” Steve suggests, shrugging as if he didn’t just say that. Why would he even say that? Jackie sees nothing nonplatonic in her, and Bea feels the same back! Steve shakes Bea back and forth for a few seconds. “You lesbian, Beebs?”

Lesbian? What does that mean? Is he trying to insult me again?

“What-”

She doesn’t get to answer when something falls on top of her and, her survival instincts kicking in, she shuts her eyes and readies herself for fight or flight instincts to come in.

“Holy shit.”

Bea doesn’t try to process her surroundings or what’s happening when she swings her claws at it, and she kicks off her attacker. When she recognizes nothing’s holding her down now, she opens her eyes, glaring, and Jackie helps her stand.

“Haha!” Steve’s getting a kick out of this, isn’t he? He’s just pointing and laughing at the attacker, who Bea realizes is his fox friend. Or whatever they are. “You just got beat by a chick, man!”

“You cool, Bea?” Jackie whispers to her, and she gives her a half-hearted nod. Bea’s only focused on the fox, whose cheek is bleeding from her claw marks.

Her stomach twists when she looks at her claws. Not only blood pooling on them, but orange fur. That fox’s fur. “I’m-”

A cat comes out from the closet, or something with pointy-looking ears, and Bea feels her vision fade to blurs. She can still see, but nothing looks clear to her anymore.

“Bea?” She thinks someone is calling for her. She doesn’t know who.

“Get her to-”

Last thing she remembers is feeling her head ring with pain, and Bea’s vision wipes out cold.

Chapter Text

As soon as I graduate, I can leave. Angus reminds himself that same thing when he wakes up, when he passes his snoring grandmother on the couch, and when he’s out the door for school. He’s in his last year, which meant graduation’s the light at the end of his tunnel, the beacon of hope he’s been looking forward to since he was a cub. It’s all because he’s the ‘age of responsibility’, in his father’s words, where he can go get a job, maybe out of town when he can afford it, and live all on his own. That, and apparently it’s been a Delaney tradition for cubs to leave when they’re old enough.

Agnus isn’t actually sure if his father just said that so he’d stop questioning it, or if it’s true, but at least he’ll get to find out this time. He’s in his last semester, so he doesn’t think he has anything to worry about. He’s also been a fine student in Possum Springs High, a straight-A student on his best behavior, never picking a fight or ruffling his fur over something so small. The effort’s worth it as long as he can get out of the house, live somewhere new, make something of himself. That’s all there is when it comes to adulthood: pure and utter independence, as far as he’s been told.

The walk to and from school rarely changes. When it does, it’s because of roadwork, and never really a new building popping up. Agnus used to take the bus to school, but it’s always too damn crowded, and that makes it way too hard to breathe for his liking. So he takes walks, which not only are better to breathe in, but also it’s good to take in the fresh air of wet cement or something burning. He doesn’t know where the burning smell comes from, but he also doesn’t want to know.

Just as he thinks he can make it to the double doors of the school without a break, Agnus slows down and slips his backpack off his shoulders. It’s just to give himself a moment to relax, breathe in that totally fresh air of burned rubber and smoke, or maybe not that last one for the sake of his lungs.

“I don’t get paid enough for this,” he hears someone complain near him, so he looks around before spotting the penguin bus driver a little behind where he was. Their feathers have grown more gray since he last saw them, and the ‘Possum Springs’ on their hat looks definitely worn down.

Will Agnus’ fur turn gray when he’s old? He looks at his paws, confused, because he’s only really seen animals with dyed gray fur or all natural. He preferred his brown grizzly fur, even if he may not feel like a grizzly. He scrunches his nose and bats away the idea, he’s still young and would love to adjust to adulthood before thinking of how old and gray he’ll probably be in the far, far future.

Just when he hauls his bag straps back on, slipping them over his shoulders, he sees a crocodile dragging someone out of a bus. They get dragged over onto the grass and the bus they were just on gets ready to leave, driving forward to let other buses drop people off. And maybe it’s curiosity or simple interest, but he waits for the crocodile to leave before walking over to what he could now tell is a fox.

Poor guy’s just passed out, but at least Agnus sees his chest moving, so he’s definitely still alive. He makes a mental note about the crocodile who dragged him off, in case he runs into them again. For now, though, he starts figuring out how to bring the fox inside, so no one would come by and disturb him. He might just be sleeping for all Agnus knows, so really, he’s probably doing him a favor.

It takes him a while to lift the other man in his arms, mentally preparing himself to balance, which isn’t usually a problem for him anyway. He’s already slow as is, but at least he can be somewhat grateful the fox isn’t like a boulder, or else he probably would’ve just left him outside for someone else to deal with. Agnus knew the school layout enough to find the one room left unused, the music room, since the school already had a different room for music class. Why they had two, he has no idea, but that’s likely where some of the budget went at some point.

Plus, he uses this room for himself, since no one else but the Janitor comes in. No one cares who’s in it outside of the Janitor, which is a bonus, and Agnus helps him sometimes by staying after school for at least two hours to clean classrooms with him. Janitor, which is more of a name for the bird than his job as one, usually pays him with a free soda from the soda machine. Janitor tells him he rigs it afterhours, and Agnus pretends he gets it. It’s not like it hurts anyone to have a free one all to himself, and Janitor hasn’t been fired for it, if he’s ever even been caught, so he doesn’t think about it too much.

Agnus closes and locks the door when he walks into the music room, just in case the wrong person decided to mosey in. He goes down on his knees, careful and slow, and he lays the fox down onto the carpet. It’s not the softest thing in the world, thanks Possum Springs, but it’s better than cold, hard tiles.

He doesn’t have to meet with the Cross Country team yet, so he stays where he is, kicking his legs out in front to cross them, not wanting to sit on his knees for long. The team doesn’t really care if he shows or not, since they have plenty of other senior leaders who are louder and more leaderly than him. They just kept him because his grandmother signed him up for it when he told her he already quit the team back in his junior year. She was adamant it’s ‘good for him’, and she had a horribly good reputation with the school. As if donating to a church she doesn’t genuinely care about makes her a full-on saint.

He sheathes his claws, when did those come out?, when he hears small sounds from the fox. With his paw, he touches the other’s nose, feeling if he might’ve passed out from a fever or something. He learned it from Dr. Hank, who sometimes makes sense in terms of treatment. Dr. Hank said something about a warm nose being good, too hot and too cold weren’t, but he’s also the only doctor in town, says a lot of things Agnus doesn’t think are true, so he tries to take the kinds of advice that kind of make sense to him. He whips his paw away before the fox opens his eyes.

“Um,” is all that comes out of Agnus, unsure what he should or can say right now, especially when the fox is busy glaring at some poster. Agnus follows his gaze to one of those shitty ‘hang in there!’ posters, wondering if the school thought it’s actually motivating students to keep going or… whatever their goal even was when they hung those up. Nevermind it, he looks at the fox again, resting his paws in his lap. “You look angry.”

Agnus watches him seem to process what’s happening, from staring weirdly at his paws to rubbing at his eyes. Maybe he did fall asleep?

“Heaven..?”

Angus blinks. Oh, maybe not. He answers, “Music room.”

The fox looks at him, making a face that he can only guess is a mixture of confused and… deeply confused? Okay, just confused, then. That’s fine. “Music..?”

He figures he should start explaining before the guy assumes anything, starting to toy with the string around his thumb. “You, um, passed out on the bus. A crocodile dragged you out, and.. left you on the ground.”

The fox’s eyes widen. “Were they with a goat? Or do you know their name or something?”

“Goat?” Angus repeats, almost certain he didn’t see the crocodile with any goat before. He wasn’t really watching them for long enough to know for sure. “Um. No goat.”

“Wait wait wait wait.”

Angus waits for it to sink in. He’s built of patience, and he’s not worrying about classes yet or the team meeting, so he believes there’s enough time before he should get going. He can’t say the same for the fox though. He opens his mouth, thinking the fox is waiting on him, and goes, “Y-”

Only to be cut off right away. “How’d I get here if I was in the bus all passed out?”

“...”

“...”

Well. No use lying. I don’t have any reason to. “I carried you.”

“Ah.”

Angus glances elsewhere, thinking just how long this conversation’s going to be. He might have the patience for it, hopefully, but he’s not exactly the best at keeping one going. “So-”

And he’s cut off again by the guy waving his paws to stop him, which Angus quietly huffs at. “Where’s my backpack??”

“...”

“...”

I have no idea. Despite his lack of knowing where it is, he assumes the one who dragged him off probably brought it with them, or maybe to the lost-and-found. “Crocodile took it.”

“Oh.”

Angus looks back at him, only for the guy to bounce up, eyeing the door. “I’ll be off then! Classes and all that junk!” He’s thankful they didn’t sit around too long for him to get cramps, stretching his legs out with a sigh of relief.

Before the fox even gets to put a paw on the door, it starts jiggling around, and he jumps away from it. Fair reaction.

“Is someone in there?!” they hear someone yelling behind the door, hitting either an object or just their fist against it. “I have a job to do, you know!”

Neither of them move, and Angus can’t really help but watch what the fox will do. It’s not like they’re in danger, unless it’s a teacher who thinks they should be in class earlier than needed. It takes the sound of keys and the constantly moving doorknob to get them to move; the fox holding one knee against the door with his paws on it, and Angus blocking it with just his paws.

Both of them end up face-planting gracelessly when the yeller, Janitor, opens the door. Angus narrows his eyes as he looks for his glasses, but he doesn’t see them, so he can’t help but look over at the fox.

The same fox who suddenly hops to his feet and gathers Janitor in an overly friendly, overly enthusiastic hug. He does so while shouting, “Janitor!” Angus shakes his head when the fox gets hit on the head with a mop, clearly struggling to get the guy away from him. He clearly has no sense of boundaries. But at least he’s found his glasses, just with a terrible lack of lenses.

Janitor looks at him, so Angus returns the attention. “Delaney, is this kid causing trouble for you?”

He frowns as he thumbs over a missing lens, thinking how he’ll have to go back to Dr. Hank for a new pair. At least he doesn’t seem to care how many times the same person comes in, Angus is pretty sure the man doesn’t even care what he does as long as people do keep coming back, like some really shady business… Yeah, it is shady. He nearly forgets the question before shaking his head with a small, “No.”

“Good then,” Janitor tips his hat, setting his mop beside the music room door when he goes in, just before pointing a wing and a glare at the fox. “Don’t cause trouble, kid.” They hear a click after the door shuts, ending the conversation and their time in the room.

“So-” The fox is cut off, deserved, when the bell signals for people to begin piling into the halls for their next class. He picks up where he left off with a slight struggle, “Uhh! What class d’ya have, Delaney?”

“Oh!” Angus shrugs off his backpack one strap at a time, taking out his school binder and flipping it to the first section for his class schedule, taking it out to see up close. His fur bristles at the fox brushing against his arm, but neither of them mention it.

“Soooooooooooo?”

“So,” is all Angus says, trying not to look like he can’t read. He can, but sometimes words get blurry if they’re too far away, hence why he wears glasses. Not just for reading, but also for seeing. After a few seconds, he returns the schedule to its rightful spot in the binder, zipping the whole thing back up and putting his backpack on again. “I have to meet with the Cross Country team.”

The fox blinks, confused. “Cross Country team? … What does that mean?”

Angus just stares at him, unable to fathom how someone doesn’t know what that is. He can fully understand not getting what it is, even as someone who’s in it, or was in it, but isn’t it common knowledge to at least have heard of it? God, I shouldn’t stare at him. That’s creepy.

He doesn’t get the chance to say anything, even if it’s not really an answer, when a blue cat comes and takes the fox away. Angus waves back when he does, marking the end of their interaction, finally. He can’t hold a conversation, much less keep one, so he’s thankful it’s over.

So he vanishes into the hall of piles and piles of various animals, staff and students alike, trying to go wherever they have to be at this time. Cross Country meetings take a good two hours of time, one for the actual meeting and the second for running outside or in the gymnasium, depending on the weather that day.

Angus finds his way outdoors through the gymnasium, smiling at the fact he knew they’d all be out for training, since the weather hasn’t been anything to worry about recently. Possum Spring doesn’t really get much bad weather conditions until winter, where snow is the least of most people’s problems. It puts an extra emphasis on the ‘Spring’ end of the name, even though its actual meaning is something different. It makes him wonder if a possum founded the town, or if it’s just about the infestation of them that named the place. Or it may be both.

As a senior leader, a half-unwilling one, it’s up to Angus and the other leaders to help out the coaches with the runners in a million different ways; they’re the right-hand to coaches, pretty much. Coach Mills is strict when she wants to be, and she waves him over to get with his runner. Leaders get paired with a runner, sometimes two if it’s uneven, to focus on 1-on-1 training to figure out their strengths and weaknesses in jogs, runs, that stuff.

“Delaney,” she greets him once he’s close enough for her to lower her voice. She’s not whispering or anything, but she doesn’t need to yell now, especially with two other coaches taking care of preparing the runners and leaders with snacks and water bottles.

“Coach,” Angus greets back, giving her a nod. “Any important things I missed from the meeting?” is always the first thing he asks her when he arrives after meetings, and she never minds his absences, being the closest he has to someone he trusts.

“We’ve got new runners!” Coach Mills grins at him, then she points a claw at the lone runner on the bench. “That one over there’s your guy. He hasn’t talked to any of the guys yet, but he did bring in snacks for everyone, so he seems like a good one.”

Angus can’t judge too early, but he also holds her opinion pretty high, though not above his own. He watches the benched runner a moment longer than what’s probably necessary before Coach Mills starts talking again.

“What happened to your glasses?” she asks.

“I fell and lost the lenses,” he replies honestly, taking them off to close up its case, sealing it back in the side pocket of his backpack.

“If you have any issues, I’ve got your back,” she assures him and gives him a hearty pat on the back before going off to tell someone off for tackling someone else.

Angus takes in a breath, and he sets out to meet his runner. The last guy he paired with didn’t show up to meetings or trainings much, so hopefully this will be a fresh experience with… “Oh, hey!” He’s torn from his thoughts when he realizes he’s by his runner, who smiles at him.

He manages to remember how to use his words, giving a little wave. “Hi.”

“So, you’re my trainer, huh?”

“Mhm.”

“Sick!” Before Angus can speak, let alone make a noise, the orange feline hops up and grabs his paw to shake. “I’m Casey, you?”

“Angus,” he tries not to mutter, so he won’t have to repeat it. He lets his arm fall to his side after their handshake, and he sets his bag on the bench. “Have you ever trained for Cross Country before, Casey?”

Casey shakes his head, still smiling. “Nope, never!”

“Do you have… any experience with this?”

Another headshake. How clueless is this guy? “Nada!”

Maybe it’s the self-restraint, or maybe it’s some amount of disappointment, but all Angus can let out is a heavy sigh. It’s what he’s here for though, so he can’t really complain. Not out loud. “That’s fine. We’ll start with you doing a five minute jog around the track, where the other beginning runners are.” He nods toward the other runners, many also new like Casey is, and they start going there. He continues to explain while they walk, “I’ll ask if I can be your teammate, since the other runners are already with theirs.”

“Aren’t leaders like, auto-teammates?” Casey asks, stopping at the starting line, paws in his hoodie pockets. Who wears a hoodie in this weather? “Right?”

“No, not- not even close. Our job is to train, but teammates are runners with other runners.”

It doesn’t look like it makes sense to the cat at all, but Casey gives him a thumbs up anyway, so Angus chalks that as something. “Sick!”

Angus looks for the nearest coach before going up to the only available and closest one. “Coach Ness?”

Coach Ness isn’t someone he’s at all close to, not like with Coach Mills, not to mention they’re rough on everyone. They steady him with a fixed glare, clearly listening. Do they even blink? “What.”

“Can I team with Casey? The rest of the runners have their partners already.”

“Sure, whatever.” And there goes Coach Ness, off to yell at a runner for walking during their jogging practice.

Angus shakes his head and turns back to return to Casey, to get the training started, only to notice he’s between two other guys; two dogs, one with a scarf and the other with a chipped ear. Or more generously known as, Penn and Terry. The coaches aren’t watching them, so Angus does, staying near since it’s his runner and his responsibility to make sure fights don’t break out. Not that he can really do anything to prevent them though. He walks over to them, cutting into whatever they’re talking about, only focusing on Casey. “Ready to train?”

There’s some satisfaction with the twin glares from the canines in front of him. “We were talking, assface!” Penn growls at him, baring his teeth like it’d intimidate someone with, you know, teeth.

“Let’s go!” Casey puts an end to their talking and whatever they would’ve said next. He grabs Angus’ paw and brings him to another part of the starting line, away from them. He leans into him and half-whispers, “They sound like dicks!”

“Shh,” is Angus’ immediate reply, looking to make sure they hadn’t heard him. The duo are busy… somewhere, he doesn’t even know where they’ve gone nor does he care, so they’re safe. “You shouldn’t let them hear you.”

Casey drops his paw and readies himself at the starting line, rubbing his own paws together like he’s hyping himself up. “Who cares if they do? They called you assface, so it’s free-game!”

Angus shakes his head, smiling. He’s not sure how he feels about this guy yet, but Couch Mills is right that he doesn’t seem awful. He lines his paws up with the line, just like Casey, and he points to Casey’s wristwatch. “Ready to time it? This is only a five-minute jog, but it’s okay if you go over or under as long as you make it to the end.”

Casey nods at him and holds up his watch. “Just say when, man!”

Angus looks ahead at where he believes the finish line is, out of sight. He has his inhaler in his pants pocket when he needs it, reminding himself it’s only training and that he doesn’t need to push himself. Casey has his own watch to time himself, so all Angus has to do is try and keep up to at least witness him make it to the end, whether or not he himself does.

“When.” And they start going.