Work Text:
Throw my better self overboard
Shoot at him when he comes up for air
I don't wanna die in here.
Jake gets in fights. A lot, if he's honest. It doesn't bother him too much; he's not nearly the worst in his high school. Plus every time some asshole takes a swing at him, he can dodge that much better. It helps him at home and school, like some sort of demented two birds with one stone technique.
His life is a little depressing if he thinks about it too long. Which is the real reason he buries his head in historical art books. They make him feel emotions that aren't his own, and those are a lot safer.
He's just contemplating this, slamming his locker shut and watching little bits of peeling green paint fall off the door, when he hears the unmistakable yelling of Andy.
Really, the dude shouldn't even be targeting him. They had never had beef; they never even really interacted until two days ago. Unfortunately, Andy did like to pick on the quiet redhead in Jake's English class, and Jake doesn't deal well with big scary guys using their size to their advantage like that.
A loud argument turned into a shoving match, and now Andy wanted to kill him.
Typical.
"What do you want, Andy?" Jake spins around to look at the other kid and leans his shoulder against his locker. The guy isn't going to try to take him out while they're still at school, so he might as well take advantage of the temporary protection. Maybe he can make him back off until the weekend. His dad is going out to work an all weekend shift in the fields, so he could have some time to recover in peace.
Andy, it seems, has other plans. He shoves a finger into Jake's chest, hard enough to hurt.
"You gonna apologize or not, Stone? I've got detention tomorrow for two hours because somebody reported me as 'inciting violence'. You wouldn't know who that was, would you?"
Jake shrugs. "Anybody who's met you?"
Andy grits his teeth and growls. "I'll see you in half an hour." He spits over his shoulder while he walks away.
"You're not even going to tell me where?" Jake calls after him, hoping his voice isn't shaking.
Andy turns around and smiles. "We'll find you."
All in all, the damage could have been worse. Andy and his douchebag friends only got three clean hits on him, and Jake gave each one of them a pretty good swing back. Especially Andy, who he'd hit right in the eye. That was going to be a great shiner to look at for the rest of the week.
At least, if his dad didn't kill him first.
Wouldn't that be sad? Dead at 14 because he couldn't resist calling an asshole an asshole. The obituary would probably be glowing.
Jake clenched and unclenched his fist. Good, his hand still worked. He was a little worried about that. He ran his unhurt hand over his face, wiping off dust and...yep, that was blood. Awesome.
As he limped back home, rearing up for what was waiting for him, he wondered how much more he could take.
A week later, some other guy in his math class was tossing spitballs at the smart kid who sat in the front. Some part of Jake nearly leapt at the chance to tell him off, but for whatever reason he didn't.
Gradually, Jake Stone learned to sit down and shut up. He could live the rest of his life without saying anything. And as long as he stayed in his hometown, he just might need to.