Divergence - Chapter 60
Title: Divergence
Author: escapes
Rating: Just to be safe, NC 17
Pairing: Luke/Noah
Spoiler/Warning: Spoilers up through the enlistment story arc and forward
Warnings: M/M, Language
Disclaimer: Characters belong to ATWT, P&G, CBS, etc. I'm not making money from this, don't sue, etc. Author’s Notes: During the whole enlistment arc in Luke and Noah's story is when I realized that the writers of ATWT are on crack. I kept thinking that I could have done so much better with the story. So I thought about it and 30 pages of outline later, I started writing. This is the result. This is Luke and Noah’s storyline from the enlistment arc forward. How I would have liked to see it unfold.
Summary: There are consequences to your actions. Sometimes learning to live with those consequences teaches you things about yourself. Like how strong you really are.
Thank you to noelleleithe for the beta.
Chapter 60
The lock on the outside door had been a pain in the ass to pick. The cold had nearly frozen his fingers off, making them clumsy and numb, but he’d finally gotten the tumblers to fall into line and stepped inside where it was warmer. Closing the door behind him, he looks around at the space.
A flight of stairs started about four feet in front of him, leading up to a second locked door. He swears at that. For a rental, this place had better than standard locks. It figures the Princess has himself locked away in a tower.
Looking around some more, he sees a mat with a jumble of different sneakers and shoes on it. There are obvious spaces between the pairs. This makes him smile. Maybe the threats to Mayer had worked and loverboy had cleared out at one point. He’s pretty sure the phone call he’d paid that kid to make from the Wagon Wheel had helped that along.
Coats are hung on a coat rack and he does a double take at it. His eyebrows raise as he takes in the pink color and sparkles. For a second he thinks maybe he has the wrong place, but it’s too high for a kid to use and there are no kid shoes lying around. The faggot actually uses this. The irritation that had been crawling under his skin boils over as he takes in the brands of the sneakers and the fact that this stairwell is bigger and nicer than most of the apartments he’s spent his life in.
He thinks of the time it took to pick the lock to even get in this far and how many of his own places have had locks that could have been picked by toddlers with a toothpick and a little force. How the hell does this faggot get all of this and he has to scrape together a home out of the anonymous rentals provided by the cowards that didn’t have the balls to take care of their problems by themselves?
Reaching up, he throws the coats that are hanging on the rack off the hooks and then wraps his fingers around them, using them as handles to yank it, trying to pull it off the wall.
After a few hard pulls, it’s loosened off the wall, but still hanging on. He huffs out a frustrated breath and kicks out his foot.
It connects with his bag and he hears the clang of metal rolling into metal. Taking a few deep breaths, he remembers why he’s here and reaches down inside the plastic bag.
Pulling out the first can of spray paint, he gives it a shake and hears the ball bearing clicking inside, stirring up his memories of nights and weekends spent defacing the property of his town. Lifting the can, he presses on the nozzle and a violent spray of red streaks the wall as he starts the first letter.
Ten minutes later, there is hardly any place in the stairwell that is not covered with slurs. The air is thick with the fumes of the spray paint and he feels a little dizzy from the bonus high they’re giving him. Dropping the empty can in his bag, he looks up at the door. It’s a work of fucking beauty, the large letters of FAGGOT stretching from top to bottom in an almost neon pink color. It seemed appropriate. Reaching down into his bag, he can feel the weight of at least one more canister that has paint in it. Sizing up at the locks on the door, he reaches into his pocket, making sure the tools are still in there.
Glancing down at his watch, he figures he has enough time to jimmy the locks and maybe trash the place a bit. He bets the poor little rich fag has some cash around that he can take for his troubles. He shakes the last full can of spray paint and grins. Maybe he’ll redecorate a little while he’s in there.
Luke takes the rag that Tony had thrown at him and wipes down the table he’d been sitting at, before firing it back at his friend. “See, I even clean up after myself!”
Tony makes an appropriately mocking impressed face and Luke rolls his eyes. Grabbing his things, he slings the strap of his satchel over his chest and picks up the bag of cookies that Tony had loaded up for him. “See you tomorrow, Tony.”
Tony waves as Luke walks out of the door. “See ya, kid.”
The cold when he walks out of the ‘Bean is like a slap in the face. He’s glad he took the time to do up his jacket, hating that the sun goes down so early now and even though it’s barely after 5, it’s pitch black outside, except for the streetlights and all the lights from the buildings. He pulls his scarf closer around his neck, getting a waft of ginger and molasses as he does.
A movement in the parking lot gets his attention from the corner of his eye. He stops and turns towards it, but nothing is out of place. Just a few cars that are probably from the restaurant across the street, since sometimes the customers park in the side lot of the ‘Bean if the main parking lot is full for the restaurant. He shakes his head at himself. It must have been something blowing in the wind, not whatever bogeyman his mind told him it was. Whatever it is, it’s too cold to stand around like a paranoid idiot. Rubbing his nose, already losing feeling in this bitter wind, he ducks his head and hurries towards the door that would lead to a refuge from the wind and cold.
Kevin feels like he’s going to throw up. He’s curled up on the front seat of the car, trying not to be seen by Luke. Reaching around in the darkness for the phone that had slipped out of his grip in the panic, he knows he needs to warn someone, but at this moment he’s not sure who.
Groping around, he curses that he chose a black phone. Chancing a glance over the dashboard, he sees Luke digging into his pocket for his keys at the door. Dropping back down, he frantically gropes around and finally his hand hits plastic and metal. He snatches his phone up and looks for the number he needs, typing with panic shaky fingers.
Luke is surprised the lock has given way without the usual amount of coaxing and persuading. He pushes the door open when his phone beeps and vibrates that he has a message. Pulling it out of his pocket, he raises his eyebrows.
Stop what you are doing.
Shuffling his way in and trying not to drop the bag as he texts back, he kicks the door closed behind him and his nose wrinkles at the smell that assaults him. He ignores it as he types, making a mental note to maybe move his shoes away from the radiator now that the heat has been kicked up, because that’s kinda nasty.
Another message comes in less than a second later.
Stop burning whatever it is that you’re making and I’ll grab dinner on the way over. I’m thinking movie night and relaxing.
Luke starts up the stairs, thumbs pressing on the keys as he answers back.
Sounds perfect. Hurry home.
He’s halfway up the stairs when he hears the sound of a door opening and beeping of his alarm and looks up with a smile when he thinks that Noah has been waiting in the apartment this whole time.
His face falls slack in shock when he realizes the person at the top of the stairs is not Noah and all the paint on the walls around him registers, the words Faggot, homo, fag and the words die and go away being the most prevalent among them.
He hears the sound of feet thumping down the stairs and looks forward just in time to see a figure rushing down the stairs right at him. “Outta my way, faggot!”
It feels like he’s hit with the force of a truck and before he can react, the world tilts and then lurches as he falls backwards, his arms reaching out and trying to grab his attacker, only managing to grab a wrist for a split second by the edges of his fingernails, before he’s shaken off and he crashes down the stairs. He feels the strap of his bag pull tight enough to make him choke before something rips and gives and then his stuff is following him down the stairs, clattering and bumping and hitting him in the few places the stairs have missed.
His vision whites out as he hits his head on one of the steps and smashes his tailbone so hard that pain shoots out to the tips of his toes and fingers as he lands in a heap at the bottom.
Kevin sees the door close behind Luke and finishes his text message, hoping it gets through. The first one had returned back to him. “Come on, please!”
Noah smiles as he reads Luke’s text about hurrying home. Now, what to grab for dinner. Al’s maybe?
His phone beeps and he picks it up, thinking that Luke’s made a request and has saved him making the choice.
You need to get to Luke’s. Now. He’s in danger.
Noah’s heart shoots into his throat and he slams the brakes on his truck, causing the cars behind him to start honking. Cranking the wheel to the left, he u-turns on the road and pushes his foot down on the gas, going as fast as he dares without risking being pulled over. His thumb hits the speed dial button for Luke and he puts it up to his ear. “Pick up, Luke. Come on, pick up.”
The silence in the stairwell is deafening. Two people are frozen and still, one on the ground at the bottom of the stairs and the other still standing on them.
The one on the stairs walks down them, looking at the scattered junk and the man who’s lying in a pile at his feet. “God dammit! You stupid faggot! You just had to come home now, didn’t you? If I’m going to go down for assault, I’m sure as fuck going to make it worth it.”
He reaches up to the faggoty coat rack, and with the adrenaline coursing through him, it only takes two rough pulls to overcome the wall’s last resistance, and the heavy plank of painted wood is free. Hefting it in his hands, he lifts it up over his head and brings it down on Luke’s side, seeing him only react enough to flinch a little. The beeping of the alarm at the top of the stairs has reached a fever pitch as the stairwell echoes with another strike, this one causing a cracking noise as Luke reacts enough to raise his arm just enough to protect his head and the bone gives way as it absorbs the impact of the hit.
“Just couldn’t shut up and keep to your own kind, could you? No one wants you here. Not in this school, not in this town, not on this planet! You. Fucking. Faggot.”
He punctuates the last three words with hard hits of the board, corners and hooks digging into skin and leaving trails of red that are deeper than the spray paint’s color speckling across the wall. Throwing the bloody board down as the alarm starts to shriek in earnest, he pulls his hood over his head and reaches for the door, kicking Luke’s torso out of the way and slipping on the streaks of blood left in its wake.
Looking around for the car, he sees where it’s parked and runs for it, jumping in the passenger seat and slamming the door. “Drive. Now.”
Kevin looks at him in shock, knowing that it wasn’t long since Luke shut the door behind him, but that something horrible had gone down. “Jesus! Is that blood? What did you do!”
He hears the sound of the alarm even from where he is. “Shut your hole and drive. NOW!”
Kevin just stares at him, and he feels panic climbing the back of his throat. Reaching forward into the glove box, he pulls out the .38 special he keeps in there for moments like this. He wipes a streak of blood off of his wrist where the faggot had managed to scratch him and shoves the end of the barrel into Kevin’s side. “Drive. Now.” His voice brooks no argument.
With shaking hands, Davis finally starts the car and peels out of the parking lot with a screech.
pain.
screaming.
pain.
buzzing?
coming back?
cold.
pain.
know this....
“If this world makes you crazy and you’ve taken all you can bear. You call me up because you know I’ll be there.”
Noah.
pain.
Noah.
too.
much.
pain.
“Nnn...noohhhhaaaahhhhh....”
So tired.
no screaming.
no cold.
no pain.
nothing.
_________________________________________________
This song was on repeat while writing this. *goes into hiding*
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