Archive of Our Own

Dexter Douglas trudged down the hallway with all the energy a half-asleep teenager could muster on a Monday morning. His eyes were puffy, his backpack sagged on his shoulders like a leaden weight, and he was fairly certain one of his socks kept sliding halfway down his foot as a personal vendetta against him. And it didn't even match the other sock.

In his head, Freakazoid's voice chirped cheerfully.

"—and then Longhorn said, 'You've foiled my plan, Freakazoid, but you'll never stop me from headlining at the Grand Ole Opry!' So I hogtied him with a box of Fruit by the Foot and launched him into a cowbell the size of a house. Bong! Instant karma!"

Dexter blinked hard, yawning. "How come if you were the one fighting crime last night, I'm the one who's so tired?" he asked mentally.

"Oh, that's because I won't stop talking about it!" Freakazoid said brightly. "Wheee!"

Dexter groaned, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose just as someone barreled past him.

With a crash, Dexter's books were suddenly flying out of his arms and into the air. They crashed back to the ground, his Trapper Keeper bouncing off his foot.

"Oops!" sneered a deep voice. "My bad."

Dexter looked up and saw him. Chad the varsity football player, star of the offensive line, human battering ram, and intellectual vacuum. His letterman jacket was three sizes too small, his shoulders were two sizes too big, and his IQ was one digit.

Freakazoid, from somewhere deep inside, said, "Say the word and I'll turn him into a giant human knot. I'll wrassle him like he's never been wrassled before!"

Dexter sighed, and bent down to collect his things. "Not now."

"You say something, nerd?" Chad leaned over with a shark-like grin.

"No," Dexter mumbled, clutching his books to his chest.

"Didn't think so," Chad said, and shoulder-checked him as he walked away, knocking a notebook loose again for good measure.

Dexter stared at the floor, letting out another sigh.

Dexter stooped to grab the last notebook, but before his fingers could close around the worn spiral binding, a shadow fell over him.

He froze.

Heavy footfalls echoed down the hallway. Loud. Purposeful. The kind of footsteps that preceded wedgies, noogies, or spontaneous swirlies.

Dexter looked up, dread already settling into his stomach.

Duncan.

His older brother stomped toward him, jaw clenched and brows furrowed. Dexter tensed.

"Oh no," Dexter muttered. "Here it comes. Monday morning harassment part two, incoming."

"Oh, man, you are really living a case of the Mondays!" Freakazoid said. Freakazoid then added helpfully, "Try to duck and cover! Or scream 'ghost' and then run!"

Dexter closed his eyes before the inevitable happened.

But Duncan didn't stop. He didn't slow down. He didn't even look at Dexter. He stormed right past him.

Dexter cautiously opened one eye. "Huh?" He turned just in time to see Duncan closing the distance between him and Chad. 

Chad was still chuckling to himself, clearly proud of his impromptu one-man demolition derby.

Duncan shoved a finger into the taller boy's chest. "Hey, meathead!"

Chad blinked. "Uh… hey, Duncan."

"You think you're funny?" Duncan asked, his voice low.

Chad smirked. "C'mon, man. It's just a nerd. It's not like they have feelings or bones or whatever."

Duncan leaned in. "Shut your mouth before I shut it for you."

Chad's smirk faltered. "Whoa. Dude. I didn't mean anything by it—"

Duncan jabbed a thumb toward Dexter without taking his eyes off Chad. "That's my nerd. My brother."

Dexter's mouth fell open.

Duncan finally turned his head. "You mess with him, you mess with me."

Chad, suddenly realizing that Duncan could actually throw a punch, held up his hands and backed off. "Sheesh, okay, man. Didn't know it was, like, a family thing."

Duncan didn't reply. He just stared Chad down until the football player muttered something about "needing to be somewhere else anyway" and lumbered off.

Dexter stared at his brother, stunned.

"You gonna pick up that notebook or what?" Duncan asked him gruffly, already walking away.

Dexter bent to grab it. "Uh… thanks."

Duncan shrugged over his shoulder. "Whatever. You're lucky I was already in a bad mood."

Dexter heard Freakazoid whisper, "Aww. Duncan does care. I still want to wrassle him, though."