Escape Route 7/?

[stargeek101]

Author: stargeek101
Beta: Unbeta-ed for the moment, but tiro_muser360
Overall Rating: PG13 with fluctuations
Summary: Geir Zahl struggles through his faith and sexuality as he tries to make it through his final year at an all boys school in Bergen.
Pairing: Geir/Janove
Feedback: Makes me dance like Helge listening to Psycho Under Min Hatt
Overall Warnings: Language, sexual themes, violence, alcohol/drug abuse, suicide attempt
Disclaimers: Geir, Jan, Janove, Christer and Terje are the only ones whose whole names are used (I don't own them,) but most of the OCs are named after various Norwegian and Swedish peeps. I do not own the music mentioned throughout the story. The title is from Frightened Rabbit's song of the same name (don't own that either ;))
Notes: Geir seems to have ventured a little in his intoxicated state. Good thing he finds someone to take him in for a bit :)

Kind of a trigger chapter for those who don't like reading suicidal type stuff.

Um... I kind of realized a mistake I've made a couple days ago... I'm not going to fix it because it would complicate things a bit too much for my liking, so we're just all going to have to deal with the fact that everyone's a year older than they should be for 1993... *cough* I'm not sure how I managed that, but whatever.


A dull pain reaches from the back of Geir's head, spreading down his spine and tingling his elbows. He shivers sporadically, teeth chattering as he opens his eyes. He closes them again, expecting to be blinded with the sun through his curtains. Instead, he's met with dark silhouettes of trees and bushes. He groans and startles to his feet.

He scrapes his arms on a frozen bush, wincing, but focusing mostly on the pain on the back of his head. He dabs his hair with his finger tips, feeling dry blood crumbling off. "What the hell?"

He looks at the sidewalk, squinting to make an image and noticing that there's an ice patch he'd probably slipped on. How he'd gotten to the park in the first place is beyond him. Which park he's even in also escapes him.

"How the fuck?" He tries to walk, still rubbing at his aching head. "God, I'm still drunk. New Years! It's New Years. Ok." He leans against a tree, trying to figure out the awful feeling in his gut. He did something, and he can taste it.

"Oh my god." He stops touching his head, instantly flinging his hand to his lips. He kissed someone. He doesn't know who, but he did. He lightly flicks his tongue out, tasting his mouth. He smiles a little, despite feeling very uncomfortable with the fact.

He scratches his nose subconsciously, searching his surroundings. He tries to ignore it, but he can smell the scent of arousal. He knows it was more than kissing, and something about him being bloody and bruised in a dark park tells him that he'd been misbehaving. He smells more though. More scent on him than what would come from simply being intimate with someone. He smells a man. A nice scent that sends warm flutters to his heart, yet also sends him to a small panic.

Someone must have seen him. He was definitely with another male, and he was in a public place. In front of school mates and their friends. After all the work he'd done to hide it - to not be it - he showed them he's different and wrong. He's a broken human being.

Feeling his breathing alter, he tries to calm himself. "It can't be that bad. I'm a private person. I wouldn't do anything stupid in front of people like that." And then he finds it. The coloured scarf laced around his neck; one of the few reasons he hasn't frozen himself to death. "No," he mumbles, ripping it off and throwing the beautifully knitted accessory to the sidewalk before spitting on it.

What an idiot he'd been. He'd been too drunk to remember anything after getting high. "The drugs," he groans, slapping his face and groaning. "I've completely fucked up my life!" Not caring about sleeping people in nearby houses, he shouts. Looking at the scarf on the ground, he steps on it and runs away.

Trying not to stumble or fall while being injured, confused, lost and still slightly drunk, he considers again the fact that people have learned his secret. What if Niklas saw? What if he hates me for it, and beat me in this park? What if he spread more rumours? What if my dad knows? The last thought scares him and he trips on his feet. Taking a painful fall to the ground, he starts to cry to himself. He pushes up again, running faster to wherever his legs will take him.

Dad would kill me. He'd carry my body to the ocean, and Jan would help. Mom would cry, wondering where she'd gone wrong. I'd be a corps never found. Never missed.

With these awful thoughts in mind, Geir stops himself on an old bridge. His skin is cold, but sweating from the exercise. His vision is impaired, and his brain throbbing. He shouts again, screaming to the world before punching the wooden rails of the bridge.

He pulls away, cursing at himself and cradling his hand against his chest. A new wave of tears crash over him and he heaves his body onto the rail. He sits on it, looking down at the still water below. It would be a good sixty-foot fall. He'll be dead for sure, and by his own hands, not his father's. He'll never have to plague his brother with the task of dragging his dead body to the ocean, because he'll have done it himself already.

Slowly and with shaking limbs, he stands up, making the fall look that much farther. I can end it all. Maybe no one knows yet. Maybe I'm still in the clear, and I can just end it before they find out. I'll at least be missed that way. He considers jumping right at that moment, but another thought crosses his mind.

He brings his hand up to his mouth, biting his nails and sniffling. Why the fuck am I trying to kill myself? Why don't I just leave? I can run away to somewhere that nobody knows me. To the Americas, to live with cowboys on a farm. I can run to Texas! It's way bigger than this damned country. "No. They'll expect me to be there." I can take Dad's money, fly to Texas and hitchhike to....Ohio to cover my tracks. Yes. Ohio.

He stands on the rail of the bridge, staring at the flowing water below him. He nods a few times, wiping the drying tears from his cheeks. He listens to the ocean's current, letting it lull and calm him until he decides he's had enough. He bends his knees slightly, figuring out how to get down, but instead of stepping back, he's violently pulled from behind and into the arms of a small redheaded kid who can't be more than twelve years old. Geir lets out a shocked yelp while the boy shouts in his ear.

"You fucking idiot. You trying to kill yourself? I'm all for letting people make their own choices, but public suicide is not good in my books." The child glares while holding him and refusing to let go. "And you smell of alcohol. No. You need to think things through properly before you do shit like that."

"I wasn't going to kill myself," Geir whines, completely in shock of the person who's arms are around him. "I'm going to Ohio."

The red-blonde stares at him for a good few seconds. His brows furrow and his grip tightens. "I think you need a better map."

"Put me down," Geir growls, kicking around until he's almost dropped on his ass. "Thank you. Now, if you'd excuse me, I need to find a bus to take me to the airport."

"I really don't think you should be going anywhere but home."

"I'm not fucking going home. I can't go back."

The boy thinks quickly, trying to keep the brunette with him. "How about you come to mine then? I'll clean you up and find some clothes."

"I seriously doubt I'll fit into your clothes, kid." He eyes the child, twitching and considering again, the possibility of throwing himself over the bridge.

"Nah, my dad's got something you'd fit. Come on, I only live a few blocks away. Maybe," he says, trying to falsely reason with the crazy boy, "we can discuss your trip to Ohio. Can't send you on any busses with blood and dirt all over you."

Wanting to disagree, to not have to let a primary student take care of him, Geir knows that the redhead is right. He grumbles something the kid can't hear and agrees to go.

"Come on, Beatrice," the child calls, whistling and tugging on Geir's shirt. "I live this way." He smiles, letting go of the shirt as a Great Dane trots to his heals. "Good girl." He pats her head and leads the way.

"Where's her leash?" Geir asks, scratching behind the dog's ears.

"Where's your leash? You have just as much need for those things as she does. She comes when I ask her to, she's been taught to live like a human would."

"Does she pee in the toilet?" Geir asks - half a joke, half curious.

"No. I tried that once, but it didn't work and my mom was furious with the mess. Obviously Beatrice is a dog, so she does things dog ways, but I'm not going to treat her like a damned pet. She's family, you know?"

"I see your point, yes."

"Oh. I'm Terje by the way." The kid holds out his hand, waiting for a shake.

Geir says his name, showing his bloodied fists and passing on the friendly gesture. "Sorry, I don't really know what happened."

"Yeah, you smell like my sister when she went through her rebellious phase. I mean, I was five or six when she did that, but smell is a powerful memory trigger, and boy do you smell like a bad night out."

"Is that supposed to be a compliment? Because I can leave if you want."

"No, I was just saying." Terje sighs, pulling out a cigarette. "Sounds like you had a rough night."

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Ok."

"I mean, I said I didn't want to drink. I shouldn't have drunk anything. And then I did, and then the drugs, and then there was the kiss, or possibly more. Possibly much, much more. And isn't twelve a little young for smoking?"

"I'm fifteen!"

"Sure," Geir rolls his eyes.

"I am. It's not my fault that I'm small. Either way, I don't see how cigarettes are comparable to drugs and booze."

"Peer pressure is a bitch. I won't be drinking for a long while, and drugs never again. I just - no."

"Is that what Ohio's for? Running away from your problems? I doubt running to the other side of the planet is going to solve much. You'll just be a lonely bum with no money and the last memories of home will be bad. That's no way to live."

Geir crosses his arms, unsure if he does or doesn't like this kid. "I think any situation would be better than what I'm going through now."

"What's happening now then?"

"I said I don't want to talk about it. You wouldn't understand anyway."

"You don't know that. I'm a very accepting person, unless it's harmful to anyone or is just flat out stupid. My uncle decided to sell everything and live in the woods once. I thought it was cool, except it was February. That was, and probably always will be, the stupidest idea I ever came across." He watches as Geir nods slowly. "So dude, what stupid choices have you made in your short life that could possibly be worse than that?"

"Probably none. I'd still rather not talk about it though."

"Well, if you don't tell me then my mind is going to picture up some wacky shit. You were drunk, so there's a level of stupidity there. You were also high, on weed I suspect from the smell, which is a horrible idea. Don't ever mix drugs and alcohol. I know from experience. Or my sister's rather. Just don't." He drops a hand on Geir's shoulder. "Right now I can see you trying to rob a convenience store. You must have been hungry."

"I am hungry, but I doubt I did that. As far as I know, the drinking and pot was the only illegal activity of my night."

"I'm stumped dude, you gotta tell me."

"No." Geir crosses his arms again.

With a sigh, Terje turns into a big yard with a tiny house. He takes one last puff of his cigarette, stuffing the bud in the snow then his pocket. "My parents don't know," he explains with a shrug as Geir looks at him quizzically.

"I'm sure they do."

Terje opens the door, letting Beatrice in first, then Geir. He drops his coat over a chair and points to his left. "Shower's in there. Be quick and I'll have some clothes for you in a sec." He darts up a set of stairs, leaving Geir to awkwardly make his way to the washroom.

Painfully, he strips off his clothes, dropping them in a pile by the door. He turns on the shower, letting the water pour, but not wanting to step into it. He looks himself over, feeling the bruises and scratches of his night in the park. It's going to sting.

With tight lips, he finally dips his toes under the warm water. His elbows almost scream with the water rushing over them, warmth feeling like boiling lava, but they calm. His head's the worst though, and as he looks down he sees a trail of red down his legs and into the drain. He wonders if he might possibly need stitches, or if he has a concussion.

Relax, he tells himself. Breathe and relax. He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. He focuses on the water, and how it feels trailing down his back. The warmth and comfort it gives his tired body. The pleasant tingling inside him. The way it feels like the hands sliding up his bare skin a few hours previous. The what!?

His eyes open with a start as he imagines a male being intimate with him. Staring down, he's not impressed. Fuck. His pupils dilate and his hands clench into fists. He's failing himself again and he doesn't know what to do. The water is coursing down him, forever reminding him of the arousing touches. He hums, despite his best wishes, then snaps his eyes to the dial on the shower.

All Terje can hear from the room over is a series of loud squeaks and squeals as Geir turns the water to cold. "Jesus Christ," he mumbles, standing in place with worried eyes. "What the hell is happening in there?"

Suddenly, the brunette throws the door open, wrapped in a brown towel. He blushes, not about the noises he knows Terje heard, but because he feels Terje knows exactly why he made them.

"I said a quick shower." He rolls his eyes, handing Geir a set of neatly folded clothes. "Though I suppose a cold one makes up for it."

"I -"

"It's ok. We've all been there. I wouldn't have minded if you finished off, but I suppose the amount of water wasted wouldn't be worth it."

Geir blinks, ignoring the kid. "Thanks for the clothes."

"No problem. Do you need bandages or anything before you put them on? I could get some cream for your elbows? Mom made it, so it's good stuff."

"No, I think I'll manage, thanks." Geir grins slightly, trotting off to the washroom again to get dressed. His thoughts are a mess as he pulls a wool sweater over his head.

"Hope you like oatmeal and berries," Terje calls through the door. "It's almost seven."

Geir nods to himself, then frowns as the time sinks in. "What in the world were you doing outside so early?" He opens the door, appearing in Terje's father's clothes.

"Walking Beatrice and smoking. I have to leave the house to do that, or the smell'll linger." Terje smiles slightly, proud of his own rebellious behaviour. He nods his head over, indicating Geir can take a seat on a stool next to him.

"The smell does linger. They're cigarettes, that's what they do."

"My parents haven't said anything."

"Parents often don't. Sometimes you have to admit your problems before they'll offer help."

"Sound advice." The redhead stirs a wooden spoon in his pot, peering in to look at the contents.

The two boys remain in silence for a few minutes as Terje prepares their breakfast and Geir looks around the room. The house is very minimalistic and calm. There are a couple pictures hanging on the wall, a few books on a shelf and a tiny radio, but not much else in the way of decor. The emptiness presents a sort of peaceful and accepting feel, as though nothing really happens in this house. The air is damp and has a smell of freshly chopped pine. Geir likes the atmosphere, feeling it instantly sooth his worries. "Can I stay here today?"

"All day? If you want." Terje smiles.

Geir lets out a small smile as well, leaning against the counter. He watches as the younger boy stirs at their heating food. Suddenly, he feels guilty for not being as thankful to the kid as he should be. Swallowing thickly, he rests his head on his arms. "Do you really want to know what happened? Or what I'm pretty sure happened."

The small redhead puts his spoon down, instead looking for a couple bowls. "If you want to tell me. I understand if you don't, but I am good with secrets."

Twisting against the counter to better face the younger boy, Geir starts from the start. "Well, my whole family's religious, except my brother and me. He never was and I've stopped believing in a god. My parent's don't know this though. They think he's ill practiced and that I'm acing all my Bible study sheets because I care. I don't. It would upset my mom to tell her and my father would be furious. But then there's more." He sighs, taking a pause. He looks into Terje's eyes, seeing no judgement at all. "I tried to fix it. I could see signs of it, and I tried to reverse it. I even had a girlfriend, but she found out, because it was just taking over me. And I'm sick. I'm disgusting. No one can know. She knows, and she says I'm wrong, but I've already lost my best friend. And then last night -"

Terje says nothing as he puts their breakfast into bowls. He waits patiently as Geir recollects himself.

"Last night was a bad idea. I can't remember who I was with, what I was doing with him. I can't remember, but I know. And now everyone's going to know."

Terje turns off the stove, standing up straight and looking right into Geir's eyes. "I can see that it might take your family some time, but you're still going to have people who love you. One of my best friends is gay. Openly gay. He's not usually bothered about it. It's just how he is. It doesn't hurt anyone being gay. It's not a bad thing. Loving someone isn't a bad thing, no matter the gender or race or culture or whatever. There are always going to be idiots out there who disapprove of something you do, and it's just something one has to get over."

"My brother's already laughed in my face about it though. He's the one person who I trusted to support me, and he doesn't." Geir's shoulders fall. He turns away, looking at the large dog on the floor.

"Well, I don't know what you can do about that. Honestly, I don't know your family or anything. I can introduce you to Janove though. He's the friend I was talking about. He's older than me. I think he's seventeen. Yes, cause' our birthdays are the same month."

"Me too." Geir grins, leaving his spot on the stool, walking towards Beatrice and ruffling his hands over her head. And just like that, the conversation ends.

---

"Where are your parents?" Geir finally asks. It's well into the evening, and he has yet to see any sign of adult life. "Because you look like you live by yourself. I'd just order something if my parents went out, and I definitely wouldn't clean up after myself."

"Dad's at some protest in Lillehammer and mom's somewhere in Sweden. Dad works for a non-profit organization half time, then he's getting us food the other half. Almost all the food here's been grown in our backyard or hunted. Mom's a photojournalist, so she hitchhikes around. Takes her a bit longer to get her job done that way, but she says the rewards outweigh the faults. I don't even notice when they're gone anymore. I've been allowed home alone since I was twelve, mind they weren't gone so long at that time."

"Jeez. I would have cried if my parents did that to me when I was twelve."

"It's not so bad. Sometimes I go with my dad. You could throw me in the woods for a month with a single backpack of gear and I'd be fine."

"What about in the winter?"

"No. My uncle was an idiot." Terje laughs. "Lucky he realized that before he got too far away from civilization."

"That would be wild."

"I could take you camping sometime. In the summer. You, Beatrice, Janove, Sonny and I could go together. Do you have a dog?"

"I do not. Who's Sonny?"

"Janove's dog. That's how we met. Well, no. School's how we met, but we never paid attention to each other. He has an Irish wolfhound. What a beauty."

"That's cool."

"Yeah. Sonny got Beatrice pregnant last year. There was no denying he was the father. Janove's the only one I've ever seen with a wolfie around. So he'd come over and tend the puppies with us. There were four of them. We gave them away."

"You didn't sell 'em?"

"What would I need the money for? Paper for a dog, now that's a trade. No, we got guitars. Mom thought I could have gotten something more useful, but as nature loving as we are, I need my music. Janove says it's the best trade of his life. His guitar is his baby. He's almost always got it on his back, so he can play it when he's inspired."

"I wish I could play. Springsteen is my idol."

"Dude, what about the Clash, Zeplin?"

"Tom Waits."

"Billy Idol."

"The Cure. The Mighty Dogfood."

"The Mighty Dogfood? You're out of your head boy."

Geir shrugs then sees the time. "Oh wow, it's late."

Terje glances at the clock, jumping when he sees it's nearing on eleven. "Jesus, I hope you don't live too far away."

"Maybe I should call my mom. She'll be worrying about me."

The strawberry blonde looks over with an apologetic frown. "We don't have a phone."

"You don't have a phone? What kind of prehistoric age do you live in? It's 1993 for Christ's sake."

"Yeah, well my family doesn't feel the need to have one." He shrugs.

"Ok, fine. Can I spend the night here then?" He stretches his arms out, wincing with the pain but sighing with the relief in his muscles.

Terje sits up straighter on his bed, thinking the question through before answering. "Yeah, of course."

Geir grins, leaning back against the wall opposite the younger boy. He likes that he's made a friend, in spite of the way his life's been going lately. Regardless of the kid being younger than him and the fact that he goes to a different school, Geir thinks that they could be really close friends.