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Bill knows that he should be sleeping, instead of just laying in bed and staring at his ceiling, but the anticipation of tomorrow's History report is doing a most effective job at keeping him awake.
As much as Bill would like to believe otherwise, he's not certain that they're going to have any real luck with the assignment. He and Ted had done their best to study up before Ted's curfew hit, trying to stick to places where they could stop people on the street to ask questions, but Bill doesn't think it'd been enough. The pedestrians had seemed to try their best, but most of them didn't seem to know much more than Bill did, and that's how things always seem to go, isn't it? Mr. Ryan says if they don't do a good enough job then they're getting flunked, and if that happens Ted's dad says he's getting sent away for good this time, but no one who could help them avoid that most preposterous fate actually cares enough to help them out of it.
As usual, Bill and Ted only seem to have each other for help, and unlike with English or Math, neither of them are very good at History, especially not made-up history like this report is. It's hard enough trying to remember basic facts about these old dudes, but trying to get to know them well enough to try putting words in their mouths is, in Bill's opinion, infinitesimally harder. Bill wishes it could be as easy as going around to just ask those guys that they'd think of San Dimas.
It's not, but Bill has to believe it'll all still work out, one way or another. The alternative is way too dire to even think about, and luck has gotten him and Ted this far through school already, right? Maybe they'll stumble into a little more, just enough to keep things from totally falling apart in the most non-triumphant of manners.
After all, all they need to do is get an A on the report. That should be easy enough, right?
Not.
Bill's so busy being tremendously caught up in these twisted worries that he doesn't notice the rustling at his window until Ted's already practically fallen through it. He reaches over to turn on his lamp, and barely gets any time to even think about saying anything to him before Bill gets struck with a newly heinous realization - the fact that for a very long moment, he can barely even recognize that it's Ted at all.
It's his hair, or more specifically, his totally bewildering lack of it. It's all just gone - shaved down to his skin like Bill hasn't seen since they were ten years old, around the same time Ted had doubled down on hiding and protesting and generally kicking up a huge fuss about getting it cut until Captain Logan had finally given up on it. But here it is again, all shaved down, making Ted look strangely small and naked in the dim light of Bill's lamp, and Bill is left blinking at the sight in complete confusion. Too busy trying to reconcile this Ted with the one he'd seen in a Circle K parking lot only like two hours ago to think of how to respond to the sight.
It doesn't look bad, he thinks reluctantly. Could be kind of metal in a way, but that doesn't mean it looks right. It makes Ted look like a kid sort of, like it'd be all too easy to just reach out and knock him over. An impression only made worse by the way Bill can see his shoulders shaking all the way from across the room. Ted never really talks about it, but he'd loved his hair - wanted to get it to come all the way down to his shoulders, even. Bill doesn't know what happened to leave him looking like this, but it had to have been completely miserable in all the worst ways.
Bill shakes his head and tries to get himself to focus. Ted doesn't look right, even aside from his most atypical hair situation. He's not even looking at Bill yet, still hugging the wall by the windowsill, his eyes big and wet and white all around as he looks out over the lawn.
It's not until he turns his head over to Bill, though, that Bill sees the blood spilled all down his face and finally realizes that something is really, truly, heinously wrong.
"Ted, you're hurt," he says, voice almost too loud in the middle-of-the-night quiet. Ted flinches at the sound, but doesn't move as Bill scrambles out of bed and around the floor to find something to go put pressure on the cut railing down his hairline, just presses against the wall and shakes.
"What happened?" Bill asks, trying and failing to catch Ted's eye as he leans in close to inspect the wound. It looks strange - too clean to be any road rash but too long and curved to be a split from some kind of impact either. Bill's used to patching them up after skateboarding accidents and stuff, but he's never seen anything like this before.
"My dad totally lost it, dude," Ted says, sounding energized in a real rattled sort of way. He can't seem to keep himself still - shifting around in short aborted movements, and Bill can feel Ted's shoulders shake where he's leaned up on them to get pressure on the cut to try to get the bleeding to stop. "He already signed me up for that school; he said my flight leaves tomorrow."
"Not unless we fail," Bill tries to argue.
Ted's already shaking his head. "Before it even starts," he counters. He's not really looking at anything, gaze restless as the rest of him as he looks over Bill's shoulder out into the street, like he's afraid his dad will already be barreling up the lawn to come yell at him, leaving Bill hopping around and shifting all over to try to keep his head from bleeding everywhere. He doesn't try to ask Ted to stop, though, because he knows how much it helps to keep moving instead of trying so hard to sit still. "He cut all my hair off, dude. Said he didn't want me embarrassing him when they did it in Alaska, so he did it himself. I tried - Bill, I tried to get him to stop, but he-," he breaks off, hand reaching up to touch the edge of the shirt Bill's been pressing on his head like it's the first time he's feeling it. "The edge of the razor got me and he didn't even stop."
Bill feels his stomach drop all the way down to the floor, and Ted goes still all at once, hand frozen against the short bristles of his new hairline. "Bill, I'm leaving," he says before Bill can think of anything to do, the little shake in his voice totally gone all of a sudden. "I'm not going to Alaska, dude, no way, but I think if he can't make me, then," Ted pauses, and then the rest of his words come out stilted like he's trying to hold them inside of his mouth and failing. "I think he might try to kill me this time," he admits, eyes huge and fingers shaking.
Bill tries to find it in himself to be surprised, or to try to argue that even Captain Logan wouldn't go that far, but he can't actually come up with either. Ted's dad is and always has been the worst kind of dickweed for as long as Bill's had to know him, and Bill's lent Ted enough ice packs over the years to know that Ted isn't nearly as prone to exaggeration as other people act like he is.
The cut on Ted's head takes on a whole new bogus light with this new information though, and Bill finally manhandles Ted over onto the edge of his bed so he can get a better look at it. It's still bleeding, but it's not as deep as Bill had worried it might be. Still, curling over his temple and further into his hairline above his ear, Bill can imagine the arc of the razor ruining all of Ted's hard work in one heinous swipe. There aren't any other cuts at least, but all that tells Bill is that Ted had already known he'd lost and gave up on fighting back so that he wouldn't get hurt any worse, forced to hold himself still as his dad shaved away years of hard work out of a completely wretched spite, probably scared most grievously that Captain Logan would be all too happy to cut him again deeper.
It's going to scar, Bill thinks, stomach sinking. And Ted totally won't even have enough hair to hide it, probably not for months, maybe even years.
There's no way that Captain Logan didn't know exactly how proud Ted felt about his hair - even if he didn't know how important it really was, he'd said it himself - he'd known it well enough to cut it himself before Ted got a chance to fight anyone else about it.
Bill's so angry he feels sick from it. He grinds his teeth together, hard, and then forcibly relaxes his jaw before Ted can notice.
"You can totally stay here, dude," he says, covering up the cut again so he doesn't have to keep looking at it, sort of worried if maybe he needs to go wake his dad up if the bleeding doesn't stop soon. "My dad probably wouldn't even notice the difference, and Missy is-," Bill grimaces briefly, above Ted's line of sight. He doesn't feel like complaining about her in the face of the totally heinous mess Captain Logan's made of everything tonight. "Well, she probably wouldn't mind either."
He's not sure what he was expecting, but it's definitely not for Ted to start shaking his head again, plucking restlessly at his shirt where there are still long strands of hair sticking to the fabric. "I don't think it'll be enough, Bill," he says, finally looking up into Bill's face with his eyes welled up with tears. "He's really mad this time - and I don't even know what I did this time, dude. I only even got out cause Deacon was still home and Dad didn't know - he sneaked back out and unlocked my window for me, cause Dad put these weird locks on before I got back. Running's just gonna make him madder, dude - he might even try to arrest yours for hiding me, and your dad's cool and all, but-," he breaks off, grimacing apologetically.
"Not cool enough to take on the whole San Dimas police department," Bill finishes in dejected agreement.
Well, what are their options then? If Ted goes back home, he's destined to wind up on a plane to an Alaskan military school before anyone else can get a chance to stop it. If he spends the night at Bill's place, he'll get a little bit of a break maybe, but then his dad will just wind up throwing a fit so bad that other adults will just give in, and Ted will be straight back on that plane again, and worse, probably punished for hiding and hurt even more, maybe even dead like Ted's worried about. And Bill won't be able to get his own flight to Alaska either - his dad was happy enough to lend them money for instruments since it kept them busy while he was dating Missy, but this would most definitely be pushing it, even if it would still be getting Bill out of the house for a while.
"Well," Bill says finally, shrugging to himself. "I guess that means we've just gotta leave tonight then."
Ted looks up at him again, jaw slack, face stunned. "Huh?" he asks, too loud.
"Well, like you said, Ted, you can't stay here, and no way can you go to Alaska, so that just means we've gotta take off somewhere else before your dad notices," Bill explains, not really sure what the problem is supposed to be. "Isn't that why you came to get me?"
"I was saying goodbye," Ted splutters, hands flapping around nervously. "You've still got a dad and Missy and stuff, you can't just leave."
Bill waves him off. "He totally won't even care, dude, we can just send him a postcard from wherever we wind up and it'll be fine," he says, and then blinks. "Wait. You thought I'd just let you go by yourself?" he asks, baffled.
"Well, I can't stay-," Ted starts, but Bill interrupts him, shaking his head hard enough to make his brain hurt a little.
"Ted," he says, and it most definitely is not a whine - it's some other, better word. Like plaintive or something, maybe. "You bonehead. Like I'd want to stay anywhere if you weren't there. Besides, we definitely cannot make Wyld Stallyn's triumphant video if we aren't even in the same place together, dude."
"I guess," Ted says reluctantly. "I figured you'd just come find me once you graduated or whatever."
Bill rolls his eyes. "Like I care," he scoffs. "We were basically just staying there for our dads anyway; we already know we're doing the band no matter what, and if we needed to do anything else then we can just get our geds somewhere like that dude from the video store talked about."
He gives Ted's shell-shocked expression another searching look. "Dude, you were really gonna leave on your own?"
"I guess I wasn't thinking, really," Ted admits sheepishly, and Bill nods. The circumstances had been most dire, really - it's no wonder Ted wasn't thinking clear. After all, if Ted's dad realizes he'd gotten out of the house, he'll totally lose it, and Bill doesn't want to even think of what the consequences could be if Captain Logan winds up finding Ted before they manage to skip town.
"Did you bring anything with you?" Bill asks, feeling the nerves start to really sink in now that he knows he and Ted are on the same page again.
"Oh," Ted nods his head, and Bill feels himself wilt when Ted's shoulders flinch and sag over the new sensation of his lack of hair. "Some clothes," he continues, subdued, "and the Walkman, but mostly I just wanted to get out before Dad heard and caught me. I left my backpack out under the bushes."
"Okay, good thinking. We can put all the rest of my clothes into my suitcase, and that'll be enough for both of us to wear." He makes himself look away from all the blood drying on Ted's jaw to examine the rest of his room critically. "We can get away with a couple of the posters, but we've gotta make sure we get the guitars. The drums are probably a lost cause, but Dad will hold onto those until we can get a real place to put them, probably."
"Where are we gonna go?"
"I don't know," Bill admits, and it is a most unsettling thought, but before Ted can get a chance to get worked up about it, Bill turns to look him in the eyes, to make it clear that he's serious. "But, Ted, we could wind up under some bridge in LA and it'd still be way better than sticking around here if you'd already left."
Ted flushes, cheeks going a dusty pink that is as endearing as it is almost unsettling in its clarity, plain on his face instead of how he usually tries to hide it behind all his hair. Bill tries to just be glad Ted's listening instead of trying to argue it'd be better if he took off alone instead of thinking about it.
He stoops down to dig his suitcase out from under his bed and says, "Here, you can start packing up clothes and stuff. We've still got those butterflies from before your skateboard got stolen; I'll go find them so we can tape up your head, and then we'll leave. Got it?"
"Got it, Bill."
It's not until he's digging through the bathroom drawers that Bill's hands start to shake. Ted's dad has hit him before plenty, and Bill had always known that there wasn't anything to do about it because anyone who saw the bruises always assumed Ted was just clumsy, and Bill always knew there was no point calling the cops when Ted's dad was the one who tells them all what to do. It's always been something that makes Bill feel shaky and nervous, but he'd thought he'd known that Ted's dad couldn't get any worse. He'd thought all they'd have to do was graduate high school to make him happy enough to back off, and then Bill would be able to get Ted out of that house and into their own place where Captain Logan wouldn't be able to get into so easy. It wasn't going to be perfect, but Bill had been sure that it would work.
This is something completely unprecedented, though. Ted's dad has never done anything so obvious before. He's not even trying to give Ted enough time to figure out how to get through school on their own, and if he'd been willing to leave Ted bleeding that bad, then Bill doesn't doubt Ted at all when he says he's worried his dad might fully kill him if they get caught.
They're not even going to be able to stick around town, Bill realizes. They're going to have to forget all about applying to work at the mall, and trying to get Stan at the counter to put in a good word for them since he always seemed to be the only one who listened about how Bill and Ted totally could learn how to do stuff as long as they got enough time to learn it right. They'll have to find someplace completely new, and unfamiliar, so that Captain Logan won't be able to find them no matter how hard he searches.
His stomach starts to hurt the longer he thinks about it, something tight and painful crawling up his throat from inside his guts. It's the only thing that makes sense, Bill knows it, but the only time he ever left San Dimas in his life was the one time his dad took him and Ted to Disneyland for a weekend. Bill doesn't know anything about not getting lost in a new city. Or who to find to ask for help if they get confused. He doesn't know how they're going to find jobs, or where they're going to buy food, or even where they're going to be able to live. It's scary, he thinks, terrifying in ways that are most definitely non-non heinous.
But Bill makes himself take a deep breath, and he presses the heels of his palms against his chest until they stop trembling so bad. He can't let Ted know that he's freaked out, because then Ted will freak too, and his night has been completely bogus enough already. Bill isn't really as good as normal people are at figuring out how to figure out new situations, but he's always been just a little bit better than Ted at it, which means it's up to him to make sure they both make it safely out of town. Maybe once they're on a bus or something, Bill can take a moment to finally panic about everything making him so nervous, but not now, not yet.
He finally finds the box of bandages in the rest of his old first aid kit, takes another steeling breath, and then goes back to find Ted again.
"Come here, dude," he says, fumbling the box open as Ted staggers to his feet and bounds over. It kind of hurts to look at him, Bill thinks, like something just isn't right - like all of a sudden Ted shrank back to ten years old when Bill wasn't looking. It hurts to think about his dad hurting him again, and how easy it could have been way worse than it already was, and how he'd been totally planning on leaving all by himself before Bill had been able to talk some sense into him.
Bill makes himself look though, because he can't think of anything less righteous than the idea that Ted might get his feelings hurt if he thinks Bill's being weird about his new look, and if it'll take him ages to grow it out normal again, then Bill can't spend years too nervous to look at his own best friend in the face anymore. So he makes himself watch as Ted comes back to sit on the edge of the bed, so that he can try to get over how strange it is to be able to see Ted's whole face instead of the usual familiar sight of all his hair bouncing around, and tries to figure out what he'll need to do to get Ted's head fixed up.
Thankfully, Bill has some experience since he's used to patching himself and Ted up, although that's usually just because one of them tripped over their own shoes or something. He already knows to get Ted used to the smell and the cold of the alcohol on his skin by cleaning all the blood off the rest of his face before he gets near to the cut, and to remind Ted to breathe cause he always starts holding his breath against all the sensations at some point, and lets Ted yank on the hem of his shirt every time the pain starts to get to him. He still can't help but feel unfairly out of his depth, but he keeps going because he knows he's the only option they have.
"All done, dude," he says finally, trying to sound reassuring and maybe only sounding shaking. He stretches the bandages out over the wound to hold the edges closer together, and hopes that they're enough to do the job and that Ted doesn't actually need stitches or something. He hopes that it'll be enough to keep it from leaving a gnarly scar behind - one Ted will have to always remember his own dad gave to him every time he sees it. "You alright, Ted?"
"I'm alright, Bill," Ted replies, breathing in and out in carefully counted measures, but he doesn't let go of Bill's shirt yet, and Bill doesn't ask him to. He tosses the first aid stuff off to the side instead, and settles his hands down over Ted's, hoping that the pressure is steady enough to be comforting even though Ted's are shaking the worst Bill's ever seen. "Do you think we should leave soon?"
Bill nods, happy to have something he kind of knows how to fix to focus on, and tries to puff himself up a little more so it looks like he knows what he's talking about. "Yeah," he says. "First, I'll go sneak the guitars out of the garage. Then, we should walk to the bus station - your dad will probably ask around the usual line to see if we were there, but I bet he won't think we're smart enough to go somewhere new. It'll take a lot longer, but I believe we should be able to arrive there before he notices, and that way it should take him a much longer time to find us from there."
"Woah, good thinking, Bill," Ted says, and Bill straightens up a little more knowing that he's doing a good enough job to impress him. Especially since the thought of having to go to a new bus he's never been on before it secretly making him completely nervous.
"Come on, you can take the suitcase out the back door, and then I'll meet you with the guitars out by your backpack," he says. "We just have to be real quiet so that my dad doesn't wake up."
If he was being honest, there is still a pretty large part of Bill that does want to wake him up, though. That wants to believe his dad could help them out of this dire tribulation before it can get any worse, but unfortunately, Bill thinks he knows better. His dad doesn't act anywhere near as heinous as Ted's does, but he's never been especially good at being helpful either.
He and Ted are basically still kids, Bill thinks a little mulishly as he packs their guitars up into their bags, trying not to feel mournful over all the rest of the things in the room that he and Ted had worked hard to build up that he has to leave behind now. It isn't fair that no one's ever willing to ever help them out with anything. None of this would even be happening in the first place if anyone had been willing to help them with their report, or if someone could have helped them with any of their other History homework, or even if anyone had ever believed them about Ted's dad to begin with.
Bill supposes that adults are always saying that life isn't fair. Well, he thinks as he digs a bunch of cash out of his dad's wallet, he and Ted are just going to have to grow up and change that, then.
"Catch you later, dad," Bill whispers out into the dark and empty kitchen in lieu of an actual goodbye, and then hurries quietly out the door to meet up with Ted.
Seeing him out there in the dark, hidden away from the street behind Missy's car and curled up small and protective around his backpack, Bill gets struck again by how totally vulnerable he seems without his hair. Maybe not even just because of his hair, he thinks, maybe just because of how Bill knows it was his dad that did it to him. An unsettling reminder of how utterly unfair life's circumstances can be sometimes, which in turn reminds Bill that he's forgotten to say something of the utmost significance.
"I'm sorry about your hair, Ted," Bill says, voice solemn. It's still kind of hard to look at - Bill's almost a little bit worried that if they get separated somehow he might not be able to find Ted again because he looks so different - but he makes sure to do it right for Ted's sake. "While I must admit the look is totally metal in the meantime," he adds, just in case Ted is worried, "it is most outrageously unfair that your dad did it to you. I hope it grows back soon, duder."
Bill doesn't really like watching other people make facial expressions; it's one of many reasons why he's been most unsettled by Ted's lack of hair. But, looking at the way Ted's mouth quirks softly down, and how his eyes get all big and shiny as he says, "Thanks, Bill," in a real gentle voice, Bill thinks maybe he could get used to it a little easier as long as it's Ted's face he's looking at.
It's hard to find their way to the bus in the dark, but together they manage to pull it off with only the smallest of pains. They spend the long walk skirting carefully around the light of the streetlamps, talking with a growing enthusiasm about where they could be going and what they could accomplish there. About how good they'll get at guitar now that they don't have to stop focusing to go to school, and how they'll paint the walls of their future apartment that will be entirely theirs, and what kind of people they might be able to meet in new places. Bill feels like he's making a lot of it up, but he figures that's alright. He and Ted have always been good at pretending at things until they eventually become real; he doesn't really see why these circumstances have to be any different.
The sky is just starting to lighten up around them when they reach their destination, and Bill finds himself hesitating as they walk inside. He's never actually been in a bus house before, only ever stops on the road, and he feels most unsettlingly lost at sea without the usual set of rules to guide him. Despite his plans to seem confident and in charge, he finds himself looking nervously over at Ted when he realizes he doesn't know what to do.
"We can watch the other people in line," Ted suggests quietly when he sees, and Bill feels the anxiety settle back down again.
"Good thinking," he whispers back, and by the time it's their turn up at the counter, Bill thinks he's seen the exchange enough times to copy it passably. The attendant has to correct him a couple of times, her eyes lingering on Bill's clumsily packed suitcase and Ted's hastily taped together head, and Bill nods seriously and makes sure to thank her, doing his best to commit it all to memory in case they wind up having to do this again somewhere else.
"There's a bus that'll take you halfway to LA leaving in five minutes," she tells them, and while Ted carefully counts out their bills and coins for the tickets, she leans over closer towards Bill to whisper, "My shift ends in thirty minutes, and the cameras here have been broken for weeks. If there was someone who might come looking for you here, they wouldn't have much to find," and Bill's chest suddenly feels ten whole pounds lighter.
"Much appreciated, ma'am," he whispers back, and quickly covers it up with a cough and a shaka when Ted shoves the right amount of money into her hands and glances over at Bill for approval.
The bus itself is kind of empty and cramped, and as they board it Bill already dreads thinking about having to sit still in it for hours, even if there is a little bathroom at the back. The bus driver is patient, though, when he and Ted get confused about where to put their stuff, like the bags and the tickets. She even lets them keep their guitars on the row across from them instead of making them stow them under the bus, which does feel most reassuring.
It's only really once the bus starts to pull away that Bill feels he has enough space to breathe - relieved that Captain Logan hadn't shown up at the last minute to do something heinous. They really made it in time, and that means that the trial is practically half-solved already. He turns to Ted, ready to be excited about it, but finds him shrinking down in on himself again, the tips of his fingers skating nervously over the remainder of his hair as he stares out the window to watch the bus station get smaller in the distance, along with everything else in their lives that's ever been familiar.
Thinking quickly, Bill throws an arm over Ted's shoulders and hauls him close. Usually, Bill tries not to be too grabby because there's always people around who are watching out for that kind of thing, but considering their utterly extenuated circumstances, Bill thinks that they've earned a little bit of an exception for once. (Plus, maybe, he can't help but think in the back of his head, wherever they wind up will be different. Maybe it won't be such a big deal anymore. The thought makes him feel weirdly warm though, so he stops considering it for now.)
"Ted, my friend," Bill says, trying to put every ounce of his hopes and false-bravado into his voice for Ted to hear loud and clear, squeezing him tight enough to be reassuring, "with the right attitude, I do believe we can make this situation a most excellent adventure."
Ted laughs softly and smiles his usual smile for the first time all night - big and dopey, and something in Bill's stomach settles at the sight of it even as Ted ducks his head to hide it against Bill's shoulder. "Bill, my friend," he replies. "I think you may be right."
And Bill doesn't know where they might be going, or what they are going to do, or if things will work out right at all, but he does know that as long as the two of them are together, then everything will turn out fine. Things will be okay, Bill realizes with a sudden sense of clarity, squeezing Ted close one more time before breaking apart for a mutually enthusiastic air guitar.
They have each other, and their guitars, and that's really everything they need to make it through the whole rest of their lives. They'll figure it out, one way or another; they'll find a new place to live, where they won't ever have to worry about Ted's odious dad or any more bogus reports, and they'll finally start learning how to play, and then they'll make Wyld Stallyns' music the most bodacious creations in the world. Just wait and see.