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?