Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The Nine Musketeers

members:

Ray - @gayrarraty47

Pete - @mcvr1es_23

Hank - @hanky_panky46

Art - @artbaker_6

Gary - @barkobitch12345

Stebbins - @billstebbs36

Collie - @border_collie48

Ric - @richarkness_49

Tress - @music_man_24

Friday, September 5

Hank - 5:23 PM

I saw a couple of freshmen at tryouts today

You guys know anything about them?

Gary - 5:24 PM

Was talking to one of em before the run

Said his name was rank or smth

Art - 5:24 PM

Don’t be mean, Gary.

Gary - 5:24 PM

Im not!

Ric - 5:24 PM

For once, I can vouch for Barkovitch

The kid did, in fact, say his name was Rank

Stebbins - 5:24 PM

Coach’s notes said so, too

Collie - 5:24 PM

Damn

That’s just brutal

Stebbins - 5:24 PM

Yep

Gary - 5:25 PM

He was making paper birds and shit

Kinda weird

Hank - 5:25 PM

What about the kid sitting with Garraty?

Ray - 5:25 PM

That was my brother

Hank - 5:25 PM

WHAT???

Gary - 5:25 PM

NO FUCKING WAY

THAT WAS CURLY??!??!

Art - 5:25 PM

He’s grown up so much. ☺️

Collie - 5:25 PM

Did he grow an entire foot since last year goddamn

Ray - 5:25 PM

Thank you, Art

Art - 5:26 PM

👍🏿

Ray - 5:26 PM

And he’s only grown like three inches since the last time you all saw him

So chill out, Collie

Collie - 5:26 PM

That’s still a lot

Gary - 5:26 PM

HOLY SHIT WAIT

Pete - 5:26 PM

What is it, Gary?

Gary - 5:26 PM

Is he taller than hank yet??

Hank - 5:26 PM

……

Art - 5:26 PM

That’s a good question.

Hank - 5:27 PM

No it isn’t Art.

Art - 5:27 PM

😈

Hank - 5:27 PM

ARTHUR PLEASE

Pete - 5:27 PM

How tall are you again, Olsen?

Ric - 5:27 PM

5’5

Stebbins - 5:27 PM

5’5

Jinx

Ric - 5:27 PM

Jinx

Damnit

Collie - 5:27 PM

Lowkey scary that y’all got that shit memorized

Hank - 5:27 PM

THE ABSOLUTE BETRAYAL RN

Ray - 5:27 PM

Oh my god he’s taller than you I’m dying

Hank - 5:27 PM

NO!!!

Gary - 5:27 PM

YES!!!

Hank - 5:27 PM

BY HOW MUCH???

Ray - 5:27 PM

One inch lmao

Gary - 5:27 PM

BAHAHAHAHAHA

Collie - 5:28 PM

Nah man that shits EVIL

Hank - 5:28 PM

I’m actually going to kms

Art - 5:28 PM

You have my condolences, brother.

Hank - 5:28 PM

I hate all of you

Pete - 5:28 PM

Well

I’m very happy that Curly’s joining the team this year

Ray - 5:28 PM

Thanks babe

I’m real proud of him for trying out, especially as a freshman

And he’s super excited to hang out with you all

Stebbins - 5:28 PM

Why?

Ray - 5:28 PM

He thinks you’re cool

Art - 5:28 PM

That’s very sweet of him. 💛

Pete - 5:29 PM

Tell him we think he’s cool, too

Ray - 5:29 PM

Will do

Gary - 5:29 PM

The chances of him actually getting on the team are pretty slim tbh

Ray - 5:29 PM

Dude

Gary - 5:29 PM

Im just saying

Stebbins - 5:29 PM

Who knows

Coach works in mysterious ways

Gary - 5:29 PM

I know but you guys saw how his leg cramped up halfway through the run right?

Ric - 5:30 PM

It did put him a couple minutes behind all of us

Gary - 5:30 PM

Exactly

Im not saying Curly isnt a good runner, I just kinda doubt that he’ll get in yknow?

Saturday, September 6

Gary - 12:02 PM

No fucking way both of the freshmen got on the team

Literally how??

Stebbins - 12:02 PM

We fucking told you

Gary - 12:02 PM

Don’t start that bs with me right now

I know you fucking told me

But like

?????????

Ray - 12:02 PM

Would any of you happen to have Rank’s number so we can add him to the gc

Stebbins - 12:03 PM

I can look through his info in a minute

Ray - 12:03 PM

Thanks, Stebbins

Stebbins - 12:03 PM

Ofc

I’m guessing you got your brother’s

Hank - 12:03 PM

I’d be concerned if he didn’t

Stebbins - 12:03 PM

I’m just checking

Ray - 12:03 PM

Yes, I have my little brother’s number in my phone lol

Gary - 12:03 PM

Congrats on being an actually good older brother

Ray - 12:03 PM

For doing the bare fucking minimum?

Pete - 12:04 PM

Darlin, I mean this with the utmost respect

But I think you sometimes forget how much our families really fucking suck compared to yours

Ray - 12:04 PM

…

Yeah

You’re right

My bad, team

Stebbins - 12:04 PM

No problem

Gary - 12:04 PM

Shit happens

Art - 12:04 PM

It’s alright, Ray.

Ray - 12:04 PM

Anyways, I’ll ask Tom if he wants to be added

Brb

Oh and boys

Art - 12:04 PM

Yes?

Gary - 12:04 PM

What

Ray - 12:04 PM

Please at least try to be kind to these kids

And please refrain from swearing as much as you normally do

Collie - 12:05 PM

You literally said fuck like two minutes ago

Ray - 12:05 PM

I said what I said

Just play nice with them for now

Pete - 12:05 PM

Yessir

Gary - 12:05 PM

Fiiiiinee

The Garratys

members:

Ray - @gayrarraty47

Thomas - @lucky_number7

Saturday, September 6

Ray - 12:06 PM

Hey, Tommy?

Thomas - 12:06 PM

Yes, Ray?

Ray - 12:06 PM

Did you want me to add you to the cross country groupchat or not?

Thomas - 12:06 PM

Why?

Ray - 12:07 PM

Cause you made the team, silly

Thomas - 12:07 PM

Wait really!?

Ray - 12:07 PM

Wdym really?

Have you not looked at the list yet?

Thomas - 12:07 PM

No!

Ray - 12:07 PM

Why not?

Coach put it up at noon

Thomas - 12:07 PM

I know

I was just too anxious to look at it

After how tryouts went and the shit with my leg, I guess I just kinda assumed I wouldn’t get picked, ya know?

Ray - 12:08 PM

I get it

I’m really happy coach’s giving you a chance, though

Thomas - 12:08 PM

Does this mean I can run and text and hang out with you guys now?

Ray - 12:08 PM

Of course!

Just so long as you don’t scare them away with your sunny disposition and high energy

I’m kidding btw

Thomas - 12:08 PM

Oh okay!

Ray - 12:08 PM

Geez I could hear you stressing through the walls

Thomas - 12:09 PM

Just doing what I do best lol

Ray - 12:09 PM

I’m more so worried that they’re going to freak you out honestly

Thomas - 12:09 PM

Ray, I’ve been around them before

Ray - 12:09 PM

Only while they were in the comfort of our home doing their best not to curse in front of our Christian mother and a very impressionable 13 year old

Thomas - 12:09 PM

Touche

I still wanna hang out with them

Ray - 12:09 PM

Alright

To be fair, they’ve all got a bit of a soft spot for you Tommy, even Barkovitch

Don’t tell him I said that though

Thomas - 12:10 PM

Didn’t even hear it

Ray - 12:10 PM

Either way, don’t say I didn’t warn you

The Nine Musketeers

members:

Ray - @gayrarraty47

Pete - @mcvr1es_23

Hank - @hanky_panky46

Art - @artbaker_6

Gary - @barkobitch12345

Stebbins - @billstebbs36

Collie - @border_collie48

Ric - @richarkness_49

Tress - @music_man_24

Thomas was added to The Nine Musketeers

Art - 12:10 PM

Hello, Curly! 😊

Thomas - 12:10 PM

Hi, Art!

Collie - 12:10 PM

FINALLY

Thomas - 12:11 PM

Hi, Collie!

Collie - 12:11 PM

FRESH MEAT FOR THE SLAUGHTER

Thomas - 12:11 PM

What

Ray - 12:11 PM

Parker!

Pete - 12:11 PM

Parker wth

Collie - 12:11 PM

Mb guys

Gary - 12:11 PM

CURLY IMPORTANT QUESTION

Thomas - 12:11 PM

Yes?

Gary - 12:11 PM

HOW TF DID YOU GET PUT ON THE TEAM???

Ray - 12:11 PM

Barkovitch!!

Gary - 12:11 PM

What!?

Ray - 12:11 PM

Swearing!!!

Gary - 12:12 PM

I didn’t actually say fuck though

Ray - 12:12 PM

Oh my god you’re all hopeless

Thomas - 12:12 PM

To answer your question, I honestly have no idea lol

Gary - 12:12 PM

Damn it

Ray - 12:12 PM

I give up

Swear as much as you want

I don’t gaf anymore

Collie - 12:12 PM

FUCK SHIT PUSSY ASS MOTHERFUCKING DAMN BITCH

Pete - 12:12 PM

Why do we even try with these heathens?

Ray - 12:12 PM

Idk hun

Stebbins - 12:13 PM

Coach’s notes say Curly made the team because of his “determination and balls to keep running despite pain, real competitive spirit”

Thomas - 12:13 PM

You asked him?

Stebbins - 12:13 PM

Of course not

Ric - 12:13 PM

Coach is his stepdad

He snoops through his notes all the time

Thomas - 12:13 PM

Oh

Hank changed the group name to The Ten Musketeers

Hank - 12:13 PM

There we go

Rank was added to The Ten Musketeers

Hank changed the group name to The Eleven Musketeers

Hank - 12:13 PM

Fuck you Stebbins

Stebbins - 12:14 PM

I don’t know what you’re talking about

Rank - 12:14 PM

Can I leave?

Pete - 12:14 PM

Give us at least a couple of days

I swear they’re usually calmer than this

Rank - 12:14 PM

Okay then

Thomas - 12:14 PM

Hi, Rank

Rank - 12:14 PM

Hi Tom

Gary - 12:14 PM

Oooo you’re on a first-name basis with tommy boy?

Rank - 12:14 PM

Yes?

Gary - 12:14 PM

Interesting…

Hank - 12:14 PM

I think you’re delusional, Barkovitch

Gary - 12:14 PM

I’m not delusional

I’m just bipolar

There’s a difference

Collie - 12:14 PM

Delulu

Gary - 12:15 PM

Fuck off

Ray - 12:15 PM

Anyways

I have homework to do

I’ll see all of you at practice on Monday and for the love of God please behave until then

Hank - 12:15 PM

Like hell we will

You know us better than that, Garraty

Ray - 12:15 PM

I really do

And yet I still continue to have faith in you all

Art - 12:15 PM

You love us, Ray. 🤗

Ray - 12:16 PM

I really do

Gary - 12:16 PM

GAYYYYY

Ray - 12:16 PM

Barkovitch

I’m literally dating the other team captain

Stfu

Gary - 12:16 PM

No I won’t

I’m gonna spam the chat with memes all weekend

Ray - 12:16 PM

Of course you will

Unnamed Chat

members:

Rank - @paperp1an9s

Thomas - @lucky_number7

Saturday, September 6

Rank - 12:18 PM

Quite the eccentric welcoming committee

Thomas - 12:18 PM

They grow on you

Chapter Text

The final bell of the day rang throughout the large high school, echoing along its brick walls. Teens flooded out of every classroom, running straight for the exits or stopping by their lockers, excited chatter filling up the hallways as cliques congregated and friends walked each other to their after-school activities.

Among these students was a freshman boy, short and gangly, a mop of brown curls adorning the top of his head.

He had managed to slip out of his last period first, carefully slithering past the bigger kids in the quickly crowding halls. He stopped in front of his locker, leaning in close as he fiddled with the lock, making himself as small as possible so other students could flit past him.

The quiet, familiar click click clicks of the lock’s dial being turned drew in the boy’s attention, skillfully putting in his combination. He pulled open the metal door, immediately reaching for the tiny shelf at the top of the locker.

He held his phone tight in his hand, pressing the power button on its side, a flurry of notifications popping into existence at the bottom of the screen. His breath hitched for a moment, scrolling through the messages, worrying at his bottom lip. Though, after a closer look, all the texts just seemed to be his new friends complaining about teachers or having oddball debates throughout the day.

He let out a small, relieved sigh, glad he hadn’t missed anything too important, stuffing his phone into his pants’ pocket and reaching for the cool metal of the locker door once more. He yelped as he shut it, jumping back from the larger figure who had suddenly appeared next to him.

The boy’s older brother stifled a laugh at his unexpected reaction. “Woah, Tommy, chill out!” Ray exclaimed, gently holding the boy’s shoulders. “It’s just me.”

Thomas’ freckled face soured, a tiny glare sparking in his blue eyes. “Don’t scare me like that!” he squealed, playfully shoving at the older boy’s chest.

Ray laughed along with his brother, not really caring about the sideways glances they received from the other teenagers walking by.

“So…” he drew out with a barely contained anticipation, “are you ready for your first official day as a Musketeer?”

Thomas shrugged. “Maybe?” he answered, voice excited, yet unsure.

His older brother’s gaze softened, one of his warm hands coming up to pat his shoulder. “Hey, it’s okay to be nervous, bud” he quietly assured.

“Yeah, I know, just…” Thomas’ chin fell against his chest, staring at where his left foot toed at the linoleum floor. His mind whipped back to that previous Friday, to the tryouts, when his leg cramped up in the middle of the run, forcing him to practically half-limp through the rest of the mile.

“Thomas,” Ray instructed softly, “hey, look at me.”

His little brother’s head lifted just a smidge, just enough to see his eyes and the sadness clouding them.

“If anything happens to you, I’ll be right by your side to help, and if not me, then Pete or Hank or Art or any of the other boys will be there, too, okay?”

Thomas’ head raised higher, still a bit slouched, but determined. He gave a single, quiet sniffle, then a nod.

“Okay.”

Ray smiled, and his brother gave him a crooked grin in return. The older of the two gestured his head down the hall, starting to walk away from the wall of lockers.

“Come on,” he called back to his younger brother. “Most of them are probably out on the track already. I’ll show you to it.”

Thomas quickly jogged up behind him, following Ray closely as he was led through the halls of their school.

The urge to reach out and grab his older brother’s hand flickered across his mind, to let himself be blindly guided by the person he trusts most. He thought better of it, though; there weren’t as many students roaming the hallways anymore, but he didn’t want to risk the embarrassment.

He wasn’t a kid anymore, at least that’s what the teachers kept telling him - and everyone else in his grade - but he was only fourteen, damnit.

Maybe that’s why, once him and Ray were outside, stepping through a pair of doors he hadn’t noticed before, Thomas took a hold of the older boy’s hand, holding on tight to that piece of his childhood that shared his freckles and lopsided smirk that was slowly drifting away from him.

Thomas looked up at Ray and saw a soft, sentimental smile tugging at his lips, that same smile he wore whenever Mom sang his favorite lullaby or hugged him on their living room couch when he cried.

Thomas always liked seeing that smile. It was comforting, knowing his big brother was happy despite it all.

The two walked along a worn concrete trail that led behind the school, where the football field, baseball diamond, and, of course, the track stood. They turned the corner at the front of the bleachers, finding the rest of their teammates sitting within the various rows of seats, casually chatting and goofing off.

“Well, well, well,” a voice boomed as they approached the group. “It looks like the Garraty brothers decided to join us for practice today, boys,” Pete announced with a mock-sternness.

Ray played along, letting go of Thomas’ hand as he leaned in close to the other. “I’m real sorry for being late, captain;” he pleaded, “had to make sure this one didn’t chicken out on us.”

Pete snickered, placing a peck to Ray’s cheek. “It’s alright, darlin’,” he muttered against the other’s skin.

Then he turned to Thomas, who was standing a few feet away, awkwardly looking at his grass. Pete snaked a hand into his already messy hair, gently ruffling the curls.

“I’m glad you both could make it,” he said, a kind glimmer in his dark irises.

Pete brought Thomas to the bleachers, sitting with him in the first row, helping him get his backpack off and setting it on the ground in front of them. With that, Ray gave a few loud claps, grabbing the attention of the rest of the team.

“Good afternoon, Musketeers!” he greeted cheerfully, a few of the boys returning the words or waving back.

“Now, I know most of us already know each other, but we do have a couple of new kids joining us today,” he glanced at Thomas, then at another kid farther up in the seats, “so I think it’s only fair that we all introduce ourselves.”

“My name is Ray Garraty,” he continued, placing a hand on his chest, “and I am one of your team captains. I’m also in our school’s jazz band, so you may know me from there, too.”

The bleachers were quiet for a moment before Pete sat up a bit straighter, turning to look at the rest of his teammates. “The name’s Pete McVries, your other team captain,” he called to the group. “I play viola in our orchestra and sing bass in our choir.”

In the next row up, a short and stout boy raised a hand. “Hank Olsen’s the name, running’s my game,” he proclaimed, words a bit muddled from the gum sharing space in his mouth. The rest of the boys snickered at the line, but he simply shrugged it off. “I don’t do a whole lot besides cross country, but I’m free to hang out pretty much whenever.”

As Hank’s hand fell back into his lap, the tall figure beside him raised her own. “My name is Art Baker,” she said, voice sweet like sugar and southern accent rounding out her vowels, “short for Arthur or, in today’s case, Artemis. I’m a part of the choir and the oral interp team.”

A pale boy with dirty blond hair and heavy bags under his eyes spoke up next, fiddling with a white, fuzzy charm in his hand. “Call me Stebbins,” he requested. “I’m on the oral interp team, too.”

“I’m Gary Barkovitch,” another blond exclaimed, shaky hand quickly shooting upwards. Pointing to the small camera hanging from his neck, he explained, “I work with the school paper and yearbook committee.”

“Collie Parker,” a teammate answered simply, playing with the strands of their long, black hair as they spoke. “Technically not a guy, but like hell was I trying out for the girls team; those bitches are cruel. I’m in choir with Pete and Art, though.”

The boy who’d been scribbling in his notebook the whole time looked up, square glasses framing his brown eyes. “My name’s Ricardo Harkness, but you all can call me Ric,” he said, tone rambling and excited. “I do a bunch of writing for the paper and yearbook; Barkovitch takes all of our photos.”

“The name’s Tressler,” called a boy with locs from the top of the bleachers, tinkering with what looked like a busted radio. “I play jazz with Garraty, and I do a ton of work with the theatre department.”

One of the two new kids decided to speak now, though not tearing his gaze away from the origami bird he was expertly folding between his fingers. “I’m Rank. I’m not a part of anything except this yet, but I really wanna join the art club when it starts.”

Finally, it came down to the other freshmen, the last Musketeer, sitting in front with one of the team captains. “I’m Thomas Garraty,” he said, a tiny crack in his voice, “but most of you know me as Curly because of, well,” he shyly patted the top of his head, “my curls.” He earned a few quiet chuckles from the Musketeers for the remark, gaining a bit of confidence. “I’m Ray’s little brother,” he finished proudly.

“Hell yeah, you are!” Ray exclaimed, scooping Thomas up out of his seat and into a tight hug. Their teammates laughed at the antics - someone even cheered - and the faint shudder of Barkovitch’s camera sounded, but they were all cut off by the sudden scream of a whistle at the other end of the bleachers.

Some of the boys flinched at the sound, Stebbins curling into himself with a wince, and Rank slapping his hands over his ears, dropping his bird in the process.

“Alright boys,” yelled the gruff voice of a man who sounded like he smoked way too many cigarettes in his early years, strolling up to the group far too casually, “welcome to this year’s cross country season!”

“Is that the coach?” Thomas whispered to Ray, who was still holding onto him, though now in a much tighter, more protective grip.

“Unfortunately,” his brother replied with a heavy sigh.

Coach brought a clipboard up to his face, obscured by pitch-black sunglasses, clicking a pen in his other hand. “Now, when I say your names,” he barked, “you all say ‘here’, got it?”

The Musketeers nodded in understanding. Each of their names were called, and each of them shouted a “here” in response. Art somberly confirmed her attendance, cringing at the use of her masculine name, and Stebbins interrupted their coach before he could even get his full name out.

“Well, would you look at that,” the man mused, checking all of the names one last time, all of them marked as present. “Looks like we’re off to a good start, ain’t we, boys?”

No answer came from the bleachers.

Coach grumbled something under his breath, bushy brows furrowing, then began slowly pacing back and forth like an army general. “I’ve known most of you boys for a couple years now, and I know you all are tough, real tough. However, as I’m sure you’re all aware, we’ve got a couple new kids on the block today, and I feel like going easy on ‘em. I mean, frankly-”

He pointed a thick, threatening finger at Rank. “-you look like you’ll blow away in the wind with those little birds of yours with how small you are…”

Rank’s posture stiffened, unsure of what to say or do, uncomfortable with being called out so directly. He looked down at his skinny arms and legs, a hand coming up to trace the outline of his ribs through his soft shirt, skin itching with insecurity.

“…and you,” coach continued, shifting his attention to Thomas, “I’m a bit worried you got too much meat on your bones.”

Ray let out an aggravated huff, glaring at the man with a sharpness his little brother had never seen in his amber eyes before.

Coach held up his hands in defense, addressing his team’s co-captain. “Now, Garraty, you know I don’t mean any harm, don’t ya?” he asked. “You’re mother’s a good woman, feeds you bothwell - I respect that - I just know you’ve struggled a bit with your own weight these past three years; it’d be a shame if your brother went through all that, too.”

Ray’s fingers clenched into tight fists, tears stinging at the corners of his eyes. At his side, Thomas managed to coax one of his hands open, holding it in his own, and Pete stood up from the bleachers, placing a reassuring, steadying hand on Ray’s back.

Thomas didn’t know much about what being on his school’s cross country team really meant yet, but within the short time he’d spent on this track, he had learned one thing for sure; their coach was a massive dick.

ᨒ ᨒ ᨒ

Coach had called them all down to the track for warmups with another shrill shriek of his whistle. (“Can we seriously just get that guy fired already?” Collie had groaned to the rest of the Musketeers during their stretches, glaring at where their coach stood, just out of earshot.

“And who on the school board is going to believe their mentally ill cross country team enough to do so?” Pete countered.

Ric had cut in next, logical as ever. “Look, even if some of us don’t have the best track records,” he briefly glanced at Barkovitch, to which the blond raised a scornful brow back, “if all of us can confirm, ‘yeah, our coach is a fucking lunatic,’ it’ll at least raise suspicion.

Ray sighed deeply, tired; Thomas could guess this was a discussion the team had had before. “I don’t want to risk any of you getting in trouble over something like that,” the older of the brothers said.

“Ray, you and Pete have dealt with his shit for three years now,” Barkovitch hissed. “I know you two, more than any of us, want that bastard gone.”

Ray opened his mouth to retort, then closed it again, because Barkovitch was right, and he kind of hated it. Pete leaned in close to his fellow co-captain, pressing a comforting kiss to his temple, and that seemed to help calm him down.

The Musketeers kept relatively quiet for the rest of their warmups.) Then, it was time for the main event: the running.

Coach laid out their route - just a few laps around the neighborhood, simple enough - but Thomas had a hard time actually hearing any of it. The words muffled when they reached his ears, and he could feel his legs shaking beneath him.

Thankfully, Ray stood close, wrapping an arm around his shoulders to keep him upright.

The team began splitting off into pairs, except for Pete, who offered to run by himself so that Ray and Thomas could pair up, then lined up behind coach.

And then they ran, coach leading the pack, Pete close behind him, the rest of the Musketeers following, side by side in groups of two, filling up the sidewalk, with the Garraty brothers at the back.

The cool September breeze stung at Thomas’ skin, tiny ripples of gooseflesh rising on his arms, and pierced inside his lungs. He had no idea how some of the boys were still breathing correctly, let alone talking at the pace they’d set for themselves. He even caught a glimpse of Pete turning around, jogging backwards as he made conversation with Art and Hank.

Thomas knew he was falling behind the rest of the boys; the distance between him and Ray and the pair in front of them, Rank and Tressler, was slowly growing the longer they ran. All the same, Ray stayed by Thomas’ side, jogging at a speed his younger brother knew he could go much faster than.

Thomas didn’t need to be coddled like this. He wanted to be challenged. He wanted Ray to run as quick as he could and force him to try to keep up. Though, seeing as his brother clearly wasn’t planning on doing so, Thomas instead focused on Rank; if he could at least keep pace with his fellow freshman, it’d be a good enough start.

He forced his feet to hit the sidewalk with purpose, with power, with speed, flying past Ray in a single moment. His brother let out a huff of laughter behind him, equal parts surprised and impressed.

Thomas jogged up right behind Tressler, Rank at his diagonal. The latter noticed him in the corner of his vision, looking over his shoulder to face him a bit better.

“Hi, Tom,” he said, quiet and casual.

Thomas caught the tiny upturn of a smile on Rank’s usually blank face, and something about it made him flush with something more than just physical exertion.

“Hi,” he practically wheezed back.

Rank giggled at the way his voice cracked. Tressler glanced over his shoulder now, too, grinning and throwing up a peace sigh to Thomas before turning his focus back to the sidewalk in front of him.

Another set of quick footfalls were heard coming up behind them, and Ray was at Thomas’ side once again.

“Well,” he exclaimed with a laugh, “look! At! You!” each word punctuated with a gentle punch to his younger brother’s side.

Thomas tried to laugh as well, but his only sounded like garbled puffs of breath. Ray’s brows tilted upward, concerned over the noise.

“Hey, Tommy, you okay?” he asked, voice quieter, carefully placing a hand on the other’s shoulder.

Thomas quickly nodded, a bit too enthusiastic for the slightly pained expression on his face.

“You sure?” Ray asked again. “We could slow down a little bit if you need-”

His brother shook his head with the exact same fervor as before.

Ray, slowly and warily, let his hand slip away from Thomas’ shoulder. “Okay then. Just let me know if you change your mind, alright?”

Thomas let out a noncommittal grunt in response, simply continuing to run, panting between his breaths. His brother fell silent for a while after that.

ᨒ ᨒ ᨒ

By the time the group had passed their school a second time, starting their third lap around the neighborhood, Thomas was exhausted. His lungs felt sore and heavy inside his chest, and with every contact his feet made with the concrete below, he wobbled on the tight muscles of his calves.

Even still, he could keep up with the rest of the team for another couple of miles, couldn’t he? He would prove himself to their coach, make his brother proud. He just had to keep running.

The Musketeers kept running for what felt like hours, their steps lining up in almost perfect rhythm with one another.

Eventually, they all turned a corner in unison, the high school just a few blocks down. A burst of excitement surged through Thomas’ veins, carrying him forward for a few more meters until-

“Ow!” he yelped, clutching at his left leg. He shifted his weight to his right, briefly hopping on one foot before taking another step with his left, a sharp pain shooting up his leg. “Augh, shitshitshit- ow!”

Ray immediately caught his brother in his arms, helping to steady him as he continued limping after the rest of the team.

“Tommy! Are you hurt?” he worried, trying to slow the other down. “What happened?”

Thomas squirmed in his hold. “I’m fine,” he answered, a pained whimper catching on the words. “Just a stupid cramp.”

Rank, Tressler, and the pair ahead of them - Barkovitch and Harkness - each took a glance at the commotion over their shoulders, and Thomas couldn’t help but feel self-conscious, especially when he heard the familiar shudder of a camera.

“It’s not stupid,” Ray argued. “Here-”

He held Thomas tight and close, forcing them both to slow their pace.

“No, Ray, c’mon,” his brother whined, hot tears welling in his baby blues, reaching out to the boys in front of them.

“We’ll catch up,” Ray assured. “Just walk with me, okay?”

He brought himself to Thomas’ front, taking a gentle yet firm hold of his smaller hands, leading him down the sidewalk. As much as his younger brother resisted or tried to scurry around Ray to catch up with the others, the change of pace did seem to be helping; Thomas could feel the muscles in his leg loosening, and he limped a little less with each step.

“There we go,” Ray whispered. “That feels better, doesn’t it.”

Thomas nodded, sniffling.

“Good. Let’s just keep this pace for a little while, yeah?”

“It’s not fair.”

Ray blinked at his younger brother. “What?”

“It’s not fair,” Thomas repeated, tears streaking down his freckled cheeks, “how fast everyone else is, and how I keep falling behind. I wanna be good enough for this, for you and your friends.”

He hiccuped around his words, cries catching in his tightening throat. “Coach was right; I’m way too out of shape to be running like this, and I-”

“Fuck what coach says,” Ray hissed. “Thomas, look at me.”

The other lifted his chin, eyes squinted, afraid of letting any more tears fall, bottom lip quivering.

“You are good enough - you hear me - and the boys and I are so proud of you,” Ray stated, soft and comforting. “Don’t listen to coach; he’s an arrogant, old-fashioned asshole who thinks degrading his students ‘builds character.’ Trust me, the quicker you learn to just ignore him, the better.”

“Besides, he doesn’t have a damn clue what he’s talking about. I mean, look at you!” Ray exclaimed. “You’re still pressing on, aren’t you.”

That managed to pull a tiny laugh from Thomas, but, despite his best efforts, it was only followed by more tears and choked sobs.

Ray gently shook his head, bringing his hands up to cup his younger brother’s cherubic face. He placed a kiss at the top of the other’s forehead, right where his brown curls began.

“You know I love you, right, Tommy?” he asked.

Thomas smiled and nodded, his soft cheeks slightly squished in his brother’s hands. “Yeah,” he replied, “I know.”

Ray copied his smile. “Good.”

He stepped away from Thomas, settling back at his side as they crossed the street together, coming up to the school.

“Your leg feeling better?”

“Yes, sir,” Thomas answered.

“You think you’d be able to race me back to the track?” Ray asked, a smug grin on his face.

His brother thought for a moment, then offered, “Last one there has to do the dishes tonight?”

“You’re on.”

With that, Thomas shot off like a rocket, sprinting down the path leading behind the school. Ray, after a moment of being shocked still, chased after him.

As the two came up to the track, they saw the rest of their teammates sitting in the first row of bleachers, seemingly waiting for them.

Thomas noticed one of the boys stand up from his seat and begin running straight towards him with a slightly terrifying speed. As the boy got closer and closer, Thomas recognized his beige shirt, his brown hair, and the stormy blue of his eyes.

“Rank! What’s up-”

The two collided with such a force, it almost sent them tumbling onto the grass below. They stumbled around each other’s legs, spinning in a dizzying, clunky circle as they tried to steady themselves.

They ended up in a tight hug, Rank’s face buried in Thomas’ neck, and Thomas blushing furiously.

“Hey, uh, I-I’m here,” he stuttered, awkwardly patting the taller boy’s back. “I-Is something wrong?”

“Rank here has been worried sick about you, Curly,” Barkovitch called with a not-so-subtle tease in his voice, raising his camera towards the freshmen.

Thomas carefully untangled himself from Rank’s arms, feeling he may suffocate from the heat spreading across his body if he was held by the boy any longer.

“You were?” he sputtered, surprised.

“Yeah? You’re my friend,” Rank replied, eyes darting past Thomas’, connecting lines between the darker freckles on his face. “I mean, you sounded really hurt back there, and, well, you know what happened during tryouts; of course I was worried.”

“Well, um, thanks for looking out for me, I guess,” Thomas said, lightly punching Rank’s arm.

The other hissed at the slight pain but smiled all the same, just that barely there tilt of his lips.

“Garraty!”

All of the Musketeers flinched at the call, their coach stalking to join them near the bleachers. The man scowled behind his shades, and Thomas sheepishly skittered towards him, Ray following close behind.

Coach raised a hand to the older of the brothers. “Not you, captain,” he clarified. “I just need to talk to the little one.”

Ray didn’t move, standing strong behind Thomas, gesturing for coach to continue with a questioning raised brow.

Coach sighed, then turned back to Thomas. “Listen, kid,” he began, gruff voice sending a shiver up the boy’s spine, “I was able to look past it during tryouts because, truly, it’s not often I see freshmen that determined to run. However, you better not make this a regular occurrence, or I swear-”

“Leave him alone, coach,” Ray interrupted.

“Was I talking to you?” coach barked.

“No,” Ray answered, “but as co-captain and Tom’s older brother, I feel I at least deserve some say in this.”

Coach stayed quiet for a moment, brows furrowed, then shrugged. “Go on.”

Ray nodded. “I can admit, Thomas is a bit of a mess right now.” He glanced at his younger brother, a certain cringe in his expression that pleaded for forgiveness. “He’s out of shape,” Ray continued, “and he gets cramps whenever he runs. I was the exact same my first week, remember, but look at me now, huh?”

“Let me work with him. I’ll give him some tips, practice with him at home, help break him into those new shoes of his. Trust me, by next week, Thomas will be a whole new runner.”

Coach eyed Ray - at least it looked that way - seemingly battling the older Garraty between their gazes. Eventually, his shoulders feel with a heavy sigh.

“Fine, you win, Garraty,” he proclaimed, “but I’m holding you up to that promise.”

He turned to the bleachers, yelling to the rest of the team, “You’re all dismissed, you crazy kids!”

The Musketeers quickly hopped out of their seats, walking each other to the school’s parking lot. Pete came up to Ray and Thomas before he followed, holding their bags in his hands. Ray took his with a quick “thanks, hun” and a kiss to Pete’s lips while Thomas slung his heavy backpack over his shoulders.

The brothers made their way to the parking lot as well, holding hands all the way there.

“You didn’t have to take that fall with coach for me,” Thomas said after a moment of silence.

“I know,” Ray replied, “but that’s what big brothers are for; I’m here to look out for you, no matter what, okay?”

Thomas smiled, lopsided and giddy. “Hey, Ray?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you, too, y’know?”

Ray chuckled. “Yeah, I know, Tommy.”

Chapter Text

“So, Rank?”

The freshman in question looked up from where he was stretching, finding Gary Barkovitch standing just a few feet in front of him, doing his own warmups.

“Yes?” he asked, surprised that the older boy was trying to start a conversation with him.

“I’m sorry if this is, like, weird or whatever,” Barkovitch continued, “but I really gotta ask…”

Rank nodded towards the other, prompting him to go on.

“Your name: Rank.” Barkovitch said it with a rough, slightly exaggerated twang, testing how the letters fit in his mouth. “Is it short for, like, Frank, or something? Franklin? Like…Franklin Delano Roosevelt?”

“He does not look like a former U.S. president,” Collie barked with a laugh.

“I never said he did!” Barkovitch exclaimed, whipping his head towards his fellow Musketeer.

Art, who was sitting at Rank’s side, leaned in a little bit closer to the boy, studying him. “I gotta agree with Collie,” he said with a smile, gently pinching Rank’s cheek. “You got too much of a baby face to be in politics. Ain’t nobody would take you seriously.”

“Couldn’t even strike fear into a fly, let alone a country,” Ray commented, then hissed under his breath, “unlike someone currently in office.”

Hank held up a fist to Ray. “Preach, Brother Garraty.” Ray returned the fist bump. Thomas playfully rolled his eyes beside them.

Barkovitch held up his hands in an attempt to silence his team. “Y’all are focusing on the wrong part of this conversation. Now,” he pointed a finger at Rank, “your name?”

“It’s Rank,” the freshman answered simply.

“Yeah, but what’s it short for?” Barkovitch persisted.

Rank shrugged. “Nothing. It’s just Rank.”

The older boy let out a single puff of laughter. “You’re saying your momma named you fucking Rank?” he scoffed.

Rank felt his skin squirm at the words, timidly nodding his head. “Yeah.”

Barkovitch gawked at him for another moment before falling into a fit of snickers, doubling over where he stood. “Your goddamn name is Rank?” he exclaimed.

“Ey, leave it alone, will ya, Gary?” Pete cut in over his teammate’s laughter.

“No, no,” Rank interjected, “it’s fine, really. I get it. I’ve got a shit name. Been made fun of for it my whole life; I’m used to it, you know?”

It was then that Barkovitch began to quiet down, some of his snickers sounding a bit choked off. “I ain’t trying to make fun of you - promise - just-“ Another laugh sneaked out of his throat, and he hit his knuckles against his chest to halt it. “Jesus, man! You must’ve been a surprise your momma hadn’t wanted and she just- heh, she just had to take it out on-”

In an instant, Rank was up on his feet, storming towards Barkovitch and shoving him hard in the chest.

The older boy stumbled backwards with a pained grunt, bumping his shoulder into Collie’s, who managed to catch his arm before he could tilt over and fall.

“The fuck was that for!?” Barkovitch yelled, trying to take a step towards the freshman, but Collie held him still.

“Don’t you dare talk about my mom like that!” Rank snapped back.

“Alright, break it up you two,” Ray commanded, stepping between them, Thomas warily following behind him.

He came around to Rank’s side, wrapping his arms around the boy’s shoulders, hugging him tightly.

“Don’t listen to him,” Thomas comforted, voice soft. “I’m sure he doesn’t mean it.”

Rank sniffled. “Easy for you to say,” he mumbled into the other’s curls.

Barkovitch was shouting something at Ray, still tugging against Collie’s grasp, and Rank forced himself not to hear any of it, to focus instead on the weight of Thomas’ arms over his shoulder blades. He let his hands come around to the boy’s back, tracing up-and-down his spine, and his head fall into the crook of his neck, faintly feeling Thomas’ pulse shudder in his throat.

At some point, their coach had marched over to the group, his face wrinkled with disdain behind his shades. “What in the hell is going on over here, boys?” he barked.

“Barkovitch was talking shit again, sir,” Pete informed with a huff.

“I was not talking shit!” Barkovitch yelled, a tiny plead pitching up in his voice.

Rank scoffed. “Yeah, right,” he muttered.

“You hush it, sissy boy,” Barkovitch hissed back.

Rank lifted his head, glaring at the older boy and the devilish grin on his face.

“What’s wrong, Rank?” he asked. “You can’t take a fuckin’ joke?”

“That’s not fucking funny,” the younger shot back.

Barkovitch shrugged. “Well, what can I say; truth hurts sometimes, kid.”

Rank tore himself out of Thomas’ arms, quickly closing the distance between himself and Barkovitch, right hand clenched tight in a fist. Before the older boy even knew what was coming, the freshman’s arm swung at him, his bony knuckles colliding squarely with the front of his face.

Barkovitch was knocked back a foot, ripping his arm out of Collie’s hand to bring his own to his nose. It was bleeding profusely - damn, that kid is stronger than he looks - and something inside him snapped at the sight of the deep red staining his pale palm.

“You little shit!” he spat, taking a single long stride towards Rank before lifting his leg. His bent knee straightened out in the blink of an eye, and the heel of his boot hit Rank right in his skinny stomach.

The kid doubled over with a cough, stumbling back and tripping over his own feet. He twisted in the air, trying to catch himself from falling, but only managed to land flat on his face. The grotesque scrape of flesh against the surface of the track was promptly followed by a scream ripping through Rank’s raw throat and tiny, pained whimpers catching on his breaths.

Gary’s eyes widened at the sound, the realization of what he’d just done panging in his chest. The rest of the Musketeers gathered around Rank where he writhed, Pete and Ray gently helping the boy sit up. Gary gasped, eyes flicking between the torn up skin on the boy’s cheek and arm, dripping with-

“Oh my god, Rank, you’re…” Thomas whispered at his side, a hand coming up to touch the other’s face, then hesitating. “…you’re bleeding.”

Gary took a sheepish step forward, awkwardly standing at Rank’s feet. “C’mon, kid,” he quietly implored, “get up.”

Rank stared up at him, a scowl on his bloodied, tear-stained face. He weakly kicked Barkovitch in the shin, whining, “Get the hell away from me, you- ow, fffuck!”

He brought a hand up to his scraped cheek, backing further into the arms of their teammates.

Coach kneeled down next to the group, shooing the boys away from Rank with a quick hand gesture. Then, he hooked his arms under Rank’s, lifting him onto his wobbly legs.

“Go and sit over on the bleachers, kiddo” he said, uncharacteristically tender. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

Rank nodded, then slowly turned, glancing at the other Musketeers, and walked away.

“You, too, Barkovitch,” Coach demanded, a sharp bite in his tone now.

Gary startled at the words, eyeing the man for a moment. Coach eyed him back, raising an anticipatory brow at him. Barkovitch rolled his eyes with a huff, turning on his heel to join Rank on the bleachers.

He slumped onto the first row a good couple of feet away from the freshman, looking at him through the corners of his eyes. Rank’s knees were curled up to his chest, arms loosely wrapped around them, fingers fidgeting with each other, unsure of what to do with themselves - he probably needs some papers to screw around with - all the while, he was rocking himself back and forth where he sat.

Rank must’ve felt Barkovitch staring, lifting his face towards him, their blue eyes connecting for just a second before the younger boy’s brows furrowed, scooting himself just a few inches further away from the other.

Gary settled his attention on their team instead. Coach was talking to Pete and Ray, something about “the route we’ve been taking,” and the captains nodded. Coach said a few more words, then turned away as the boys rounded up the rest of the Musketeers, dividing themselves into their regular groups of two.

The team was already beginning to jog away as Coach took a seat between Gary and Rank, sighing heavily as he lowered himself onto the bleachers. He opened one of the small pockets on the utility belt slung around his middle, digging through it for a moment before pulling out a tissue. He held it out to Gary, who reluctantly took it, stuffing it up his bleeding nostril.

“Now, I’m not going to give you boys detention,” Coach informed them, voice direct and composed, “but I am going to have to call both of your guardians.”

“Barkovitch started it,” Rank muttered against his knees.

“And you engaged physicality,” Coach argued. “Both of your behaviors were unacceptable, and it led to both of you getting hurt; it’s only fair that both families are informed.”

Barkovitch wanted to smirk and tease, smug about not taking all the blame for once, but clamped his jaw tight when he heard a tiny sniffle from the younger boy.

Coach brought himself closer to Rank, taking out a small, travel-sized first aid kit. Gary looked down at his dirty boots when he heard the quiet click of the box being opened, various items being shuffled around. He heard some kind of packet being torn open, a few quiet words in Coach’s husky voice that he didn’t care to try to listen to, and a sudden hiss of pain.

Gary’s head whipped to the side, reaching his gaze over Coach’s shoulder to find Rank’s face, flinching away from the man’s hand, contorted in a way that only made the bloody scrape on his cheek look even more disfigured, as if it was trying to spread, to rip up the rest of his face…

…or perhaps that was just Barkovitch’s head playing another trick on him; it tended to do that a lot.

Gary fumbled with the camera hanging around his neck, squeezing his left eye shut and holding the screen up to the other. He aimed his camera towards the figures beside him, zooming in on Rank’s face. His expression was looser and calmer now, though still uncomfortable from the sting of what Barkovitch now noticed was an antiseptic wipe in Coach’s hand, gently wiping the blood and dirt off of his cheek.

Gary let out a long sigh of relief. Rank was safe. Someone was taking care of him and his wounds, which really didn’t look all that bad now that they weren’t bloody. The scrapes hadn’t gone that deep into his skin; a couple of bandages would fix him right up.

He pressed the small button at the top of his camera, a familiar, comforting shudder sounding in his ears as a picture of the scene was taken.

Gary blinked a few times, bringing his camera a few inches away from his face, pressing a button, displaying the image of Rank on its screen. He smiled.

Rank is safe, he told his mind. His eyes had a bad habit of lying to him, always tinkering with reality, painting it into something it’s not, often times into something even worse. The busted, vintage camera his meemaw had gifted him for his tenth birthday, on the other hand, never lied to him. It captured moments exactly as they were.

Rank is safe, he repeated.

“Keep your camera out of my face, you psycho!”

Barkovitch glanced at Rank again, who was now glaring at him as Coach swiped up the blood on his arm.

Gary just turned back to his camera, lightly shaking his head.

Rank just didn’t understand; he needed these photos, they kept him fucking sane.

He heard a quick pattern of electronic taps, probably Rank opening up his phone, but he didn’t look. He knew if he did, his eyes would probably start repainting the red of Rank’s blood over his scrapes again.

Gary spent the whole time the rest of Musketeers were out running looking over the picture of Rank, memorizing every little detail, hoping to trick his eyes into only seeing the truth. He felt the buzz of his phone receiving a notification in his pocket, but he ignored it; he could check it once practice was over, and besides, it probably wasn’t all that important.

ᨒ ᨒ ᨒ

The Eleven Musketeers

members:

Ray - @gayrarraty47

Pete - @mcvr1es_23

Hank - @hanky_panky46

Art - @artbaker_6

Gary - @barkobitch12345

Stebbins - @billstebbs36

Collie - @border_collie48

Ric - @richarkness_49

Tress - @music_man_24

Thomas - @lucky_number7

Rank - @paperp1an9s

Wednesday, September 10

Rank left The Eleven Musketeers

Gary - 4:52 PM

Oh shit

Pete - 4:52 PM

Barkovitch

Gary - 4:52 PM

It wasnt me!

Pete - 4:52 PM

Literally who tf else could it have been?

Gary - 4:53 PM

Im sorry okay

Ray - 4:53 PM

Don’t apologize to us

Apologize to Rank

Gary - 4:53 PM

Well I cant exactly do that anymore

Besides how was I supposed to know he’d get pissy about that?

Ric - 4:53 PM

Are we deadass?

Collie - 4:53 PM

My g

You made fun of his name, talked shit about his mom, and then called him a sissy

Literally anybody is valid for getting pissy at that

Gary - 4:54 PM

You guys dont care about that kinda shit tho

Art - 4:54 PM

That’s because we’re used to your behavior, Gary, and we know you don’t mean any of it.

Rank and Curly don’t - not yet, anyways.

That’s why Ray asked us to be kind to them, correct?

Ray - 4:54 PM

For the most part yeah

And it’s not just you Gary

No offense guys, but you’re all kind of intense at times

Stebbins - 4:54 PM

None taken

Collie - 4:54 PM

None taken

Stebbins - 4:55 PM

Jinx

Ric - 4:55 PM

That’s probably just the autism on my part

Collie - 4:55 PM

Jinx

Damn it all

Gary - 4:55 PM

So what the hell am I supposed to do?

Stebbins - 4:55 PM

Apologize

Gary - 4:55 PM

Again

I cant fucking do that rn

Stebbins - 4:55 PM

I can dm you Rank’s number

Gary - 4:55 PM

…

Yall are really gonna make me do this, arent you?

Ray - 4:55 PM

Yes

Art - 4:55 PM

Yes. 😑

Thomas - 4:55 PM

Please do

Pete - 4:56 PM

Yes, Barkovitch

Collie - 4:56 PM

Just do it pussy

Hank - 4:56 PM

Yeah what they all said

Gary - 4:56 PM

OKAY JEEZ FINE

Stebbins

Stebbins - 4:56 PM

Already on it

Gary - 4:56 PM

Great

Unnamed Chat

members:

Gary - @barkobitch12345

Rank - @paperp1an9s

Wednesday, September 10

Gary - 4:57 PM

Hey rank

Its barkovitch

I can see that youre online yknow

Dont ignore me

Rank - 4:57 PM

What do you want?

Gary - 4:57 PM

To apologize

Im gonna take your silence as permission to keep talking

Im really sorry

I didnt mean to hurt you, I promise

Look kid Ive got a lotta issues

Ive got mood swings fucked to hell and back and its hard for me to understand how my actions affect others so I kinda just say and do whatever I want

I know thats not an excuse

I guess Ive just spend so much time with the team that I forgot not everyone gets that

I promise I didnt mean any of the shit I said seriously and Im so, so sorry about it

I get it if you still think Im a jerk tho

Rank - 4:59 PM

Thanks for apologizing

Gary - 4:59 PM

The rest of the team kinda forced me to

Rank - 4:59 PM

Well that kind of ruins it

Gary - 5:00 PM

I was gonna apologize anyways

But they forced me to do it right now

Rank - 5:00 PM

Oh

Gary - 5:00 PM

Yeah

Rank - 5:00 PM

I accept your apology, and I understand what you’re going through, but I don’t think I can forgive you yet

What you said was really hurtful, and now my parents are freaking out because I got into a fight at practice

I do eventually want to forgive you, maybe even be friends, but you’d have to show you’re worth forgiving first

Gary - 5:01 PM

Understandable

For now, do you think you could at least tolerate me enough to rejoin the gc

The rest of the guys are really upset about you leaving

Rank - 5:01 PM

Do you promise not to make any more comments about my mom?

Gary - 5:01 PM

Yeahhh I’ll admit that was really shitty of me

I wont do it again

Rank - 5:02 PM

Good

Gary - 5:02 PM

Seriously tho why did she name you rank of all things???

Rank - 5:02 PM

I’ll ask her for you

The Ten Musketeers

members:

Ray - @gayrarraty47

Pete - @mcvr1es_23

Hank - @hanky_panky46

Art - @artbaker_6

Gary - @barkobitch12345

Stebbins - @billstebbs36

Collie - @border_collie48

Ric - @richarkness_49

Tress - @music_man_24

Thomas - @lucky_number7

Rank was added to The Then Musketeers

Thomas - 5:03 PM

Rank!!

Rank - 5:03 PM

Hi Tom

Thomas - 5:03 PM

You’re back!!!

Rank - 5:03 PM

Gary was convincing enough

Collie changed the group name to The Eleven Musketeers

Collie - 5:04 PM

WE ARE SO FUCKING BACK