When You Grow Up Your Heart Dies 19/20
Fandom: Inception x Dark!Breakfast Club
Pairing(s): Arthur/Eames, Cobb/Mal
Summary: They went into detention with nothing in common. They witnessed something frightening that may or may not have actually happened: a dead body and blood on the walls spelling 528491. Can a nerd, a jock, a criminal, a pampered prince and basket case, brave crossing the social cliques in order to stick together and solve this mystery?
[clicky "breakfast club" in the tags for other parts]
AN: Almost done! Yay!
“This Arthur kid-was it his idea, son? Are you just being nice?”
“Jim,” Sarah said tiredly as Eames fell back into the plush couch cushions to rub hard at his face.
“What?” Jim asked. “Owen, you’re a nice guy, that’s you’re thing, but there’s such a thing as too nice. You gotta tell this poor boy that-“
“That what?” Eames asked sharply. Sarah closed her eyes and Jim closed his mouth. Eames’ chest swelled with victory. Who’s the nice guy now? But then guilt made him rake his teeth over his lips and he sighed, “Dad, I’m not just dating Arthur because I don’t know how to let him down easy, okay?” he laughed a little at the thought. As if he could turn Arthur away. Ever. “I’m dating him because-because I want to. Because I asked him out. I gave him my jacket.”
Sarah smiled, and Eames saw the tender heart break of a mother learning that her son was old enough to discover life’s greater mysteries-and the utter confusion in her eyes that he wasn’t falling for a cheerleader, but a skinny boy with greasy hair.
“I asked him out because I-because Arthur is....” Eames looked down at the worn knees of his jeans. “Because the first time I really looked at him, it made me feel like it was okay. All of it. I felt like I wasn’t a freak.”
Sarah’s lips trembled and she moved to sit beside him so that she could hug him tightly. “You’re not a freak, baby. You’re just-different-and I still love you. We love you, don’t we, Jim?”
Jim opened his mouth, but no words formed. In his eyes, Eames saw nothing but panic and fear, and the same blankness that came out of his mouth.
“Dad?”
Jim silently turned to the kitchen, opened the fridge, and selected a can of beer. He popped the top.
The sound was the sound of Jacob Nash’s body hitting the ground. Mademoiselle Marie’s scream sounded like a telephone ringing.
The Morrow family phone rang again, pulling Eames out of the past. Like Saito’s basement room, Arthur’s bedroom had too many windows so filled with light way too early. One thing was for sure and that was if they were going to be staying here often, then Arthur was getting proper curtains. Eames rolled to put the sunlight at his back and tried to fall back to sleep, but the phone rang again and again.
“Mariane!” a man called through the house in a groggy whine. The phone rang a third time. “Mariane! Phone!”
The fourth ring was cut off mid-jangle and the man grunted into the receiver a few times, answering questions, then asking his first, “Who?”
Eames rolled onto his back when he heard heavy footsteps fill the cramped hallway leading into this room, and then the door pushed open. At the sight of Arthur’s father, Arthur’s clothes suddenly made sense; the basket case didn’t exactly share with his parents, but made use of their hand-me-downs, as this man had clearly out grown the shirts Arthur wore now, and his pants would swallow the skinny teen entirely. Mr. Morrow was very large, not tall, but obese. He looked in at the scene and smirked into the phone, “Hold on, this is probably him. Owen?” he asked.
It was his mother. She would have found the note he’d left explaining where he’d gone. Eames remembered last second that he was naked under the sheet and so just reached out for the cordless. The man snorted and came into the room to pass it over. Eames tried for a casual thank you that didn’t make it passed his throat. Chuckling, Arthur’s dad left the room, leaving the door open and heading back down the hall. Eames heard him call into the kitchen, “Hey, Mariane, our son’s gay-balls. Did you know? No, I’m serious; he has a good looking guy in his bed right now--LOOK FOR YOURSELF WOMAN! I’M NOT JOKING!”
Arthur’s mom peeked around the corner at the end of the hall, right through the open bedroom door. Eames resisted the urge to lift the sheet to cover his nipples and waved. She waved back, surprised and obviously delighted, and then fell to laughing with her husband. Eames cleared his throat, trying not to be too overly jealous about Arthur’s awesome ass parents.
“Mom?” Eames asked into the phone.
“Young man, did you use a condom?” Mal asked sternly.
Eames laughed and fell back against the pillows with relief because he wasn’t ready to speak to his parents about any of this yet. Arthur turned over and rubbed at his eyes.
“It’s Mal,” Eames told him. He asked her, “What’s up?”
“Rod’s pleading innocent,” she said.
“Wanker--they’ll get enough evidence on him, though. No such thing as the perfect crime.”
She grunted and there was a brief stretch of silence on both ends of the line. Eames made himself comfortable in the bed once more and Arthur’s soft, skinny arms snaked around him.
“So--you took Arthur’s ass virginity, then?” Mal asked with her most wicked tone.
“MAL!” Eames felt himself color at the crassness. “Jesus, what’s the matter with you?”
“If you break his heart; I will castrate you.” she said.
“Deal. And-dido. Dom’s a great guy but’s he’s in way over his head with you.”
“Ha!” Mal related what Eames just said to Cobb and then she said, “Okay. We’re headed to school--see you there? Or are you guys playing hooky for more sex?”
Eames told Mal to hold on and asked Arthur. Arthur grinned, puts some real thought into it and then kissed him, and said, “I have a calculus test today.”
“Dammit,” Eames joked because he had never played hooky before in his life, and as much as he liked sex he hadn’t really been up for the idea. Back into the phone he said, “We’ll see you there.”
“See you.”
…...
It is a trying next couple of weeks. The only thing anyone can talk about is The Event, but no one wants to talk about it at the same time. Every follows the headlines as Rod’s trail stretches on and on. He lawyered up, and the circumstantial evidence that got him arrested isn’t enough to convict him. Detective Miles and the rest are running all over the place, sighted on school grounds and random parts of town on a regular basis. Eames just wishes the whole thing can be really over already. He focuses on the only thing he has left now that all afterschool activities are canceled: Arthur.
The whole breakfast club is required to speak to the school counselor every day, which they have to admit is helpful. That hour after lunch becomes Eames’ chance to really unload about the pressures he feels at home to always be the best, and how Sherman forfeiting the season makes all his hard work feel like a waste of time. As per the counselor’s advice, he “focuses on school work” and having fun with his friends.
To yours after school?
No, I was thinking back to yours for more chores.
God, don’t tell me you LIKE shoveling cow turds.
No, but I want to pin you down in the hay loft where your parents can’t see and take you by the tongue and grind on you and--
That was as far as Eames got before the paper was snatched from his hand.
“What is this?” the teacher wanted to know and Eames actually made a desperate grab at it, but shamed himself as a ballplayer because he missed it. Fluttering it out of Eames’ reach, the teacher announced that perhaps the whole class should be in on whatever conversation was more important than British Literature. Eames nearly had a heart attack, but thankfully the old woman glanced over the words first and then, with an abrupt throat clear, promptly trashed the note and said,
“There’s a theory that Miss Austin died before actually completing Emma because the writing structure of the ending is quite different from her other novels; the writing style is the same, but a friend could have adopted her persona and mimicked her style…”
Eames and Arthur weren’t listening about Jane Austin, because they were both beat red and dunked low in their seats and trading looks that said that was too close!
….
Calculus class started with yet another lecture about bullying. This first week back had been nothing but class discussions on The Events, as the teachers called it. (Murders sounded too terrible.) Ever since the cops announced that Green had apparently been targeting students known for hazing and bullying, the teachers had decided to lock down on that kind of behavior.
Arthur turned his bag upside down as the teacher began to describe different acts of bullying in case no one knew what the word meant. Arthur ignored it as he rifled through the pile on his desk. Socks, underwear, an assortment of junk food, drawing material, trash, and lose money. But no phone. He groaned with frustration and began to sweep everything back into the sack. His fellow Calculus students watched with fascination as the answer to the ever popular what’s-in-the-basket-case’s-bag was finally revealed. After searching his pockets one more time, Arthur finally felt eyes on him. He looked up, and about five kids looked away quickly.
He smirked.
When the bell dismissed him, he made a bee line for the gymnasium. Saito and Bobby spotted him.
“Hey, I thought you went to rendezvous with Big O.”
“What?”
“You texted him and he scurried out of here with a dopey grin on his face saying he was going to hang out with you.”
“I can’t find my phone, guys, I’m not the one that texted him.”
Saito and Fischer traded confused looks. “Then who did?”
...
Jim had cleaned the barn again today, so it smelled like fresh hay when Eames pushed open the door just a crack and slipped inside. Dad was on the tractor out in the fields, and Mom was in the house.
“Arthur?” Eames asked slyly, hurrying to the ladder. “I can’t believe I’m ditching class like this-it’s crazy, but I love it! I love-umffft!“
The blow came at the top of the ladder, from the left, a board across his shoulders, knocking him flat into the dusty floor of the loft. Breathless, Eames saw scuffed up black leather shoes and rolled away from the attacker, gasping for Arthur.
But the lovely basket case wasn’t here. It was just Eames and a tall, thin man in jeans, a sweater, and a mask.
“You know,” the man spoke softly, calmly. “What you kids don’t realize is that I can read all your little notes. You throw them away, and I read them. I know all your secrets and all the juiciest gossip. You’re better off texting in class, but I guess your little boyfriend lost his phone,” from his pocket, the man pulls out Arthur’s cell.
Eames made a grab for it. The man knocked him away again with the board. It caught Eames on the arm and a little on the head. Things went fuzzy.
“Bunch of little shits, all of you-every kid in that school knows someone who is being bullied and they don’t do a goddamn thing about it. Some of you even think it’s funny...You know, O, after you, I think I’ll get that Jap kid. The one whose name is always misspelled in all the notes passed around about him. Scrappy was a clever code name, you know, it took me a while to figure out who you were talking about in those little investigations. So cute. But he’ll get it in the end. Just like all the rest of you.”
“Please-“
“Oh, it’ll be quick this time. Not like the others. I slit their throats, you know. Just happened that way.”
“What?” Eames gasped, the bottom of his stomach dropped out, and he thought he’ll be sick. “Others? Arthur-the girls??-“
“No, not them. Not yet. I meant that cheerleader girl, the bully,” he said, voice rising in volume as it hardened. “I saw her that Friday at a game being cruel to a freshman girl, laughing with her friends. That Jap kid, even Bobby-after I told him to behave, too. But you know he just wants friends, he doesn’t care how he makes them anymore. He doesn’t care that he’s just like the boys who picked on him in middle school.”
“Her name was Tiffany!” Eames choked. How could you kill someone and not even know their name?
“What?”
“The cheerleader, she had a name. Tiffany. And Saito, that’s how you pronounce it, sigh-toh, and if you hurt him or anyone else--”
“You’ll what? You can’t even help yourself. You’re going to die, young man. It’s just what’s right.”
Eames scrambled for the ladder, but the attacker cut him off with another hit with the board. Eames caught it, but the rough plank was ripped from his hand, leaving behind plenty of splinters.
“That Nash kid was a bully too, beating up on Arthur for wearing your jacket-aren’t you glad I killed him?”
“No!” Eames shouted. “I gave Nash what he deserved, we were in detention; everything was fine! He didn’t need to die! We’re just a bunch of kids!”
“You’re a bully, O.”
“No I’m not.”
“Did you or didn’t you tape Yusuf’s butt cheeks together?”
Eames paled. “I apologized for that-that’s all I ever say when I see him! I’m sorry!”
“Apologized?” the masked man threw back his head and laughed. “Good. That’s what Yusuf deserves. But has someone given you what you deserve?”
Fear paralyzed the jock as the janitor came at him.
.....
“STEP ON IT!” Arthur shouted. They were in Yusuf’s van. Arthur, Saito, and Bobby had found Cobb, Mal, and Ariadne speaking to the school reporter about his newest article on The Events, and they’d piled into the minivan the moment Yusuf said, “They think Green had an accomplice.”
Now, the foreign exchange student couldn’t drive fast enough in Arthur’s opinion. “Go! Faster!”
“We’ll get there,” Ariadne promised. “And he’ll be okay-he might not even be in trouble.”
Arthur nodded, but something in his stomach wouldn’t let him believe that for one second. He shook his head and covered his face. His skin was goosepimply, his breaths were short, and his heart felt like it was beating unevenly. “I don’t like this! DRIVE FASTER!”
....
Eames fought for his life. The killer had tied a crude noose into the rope swing, and intended to hang him in it, make it look like a suicide. Plan A was to get so beaten up with that plank of wood first that the cops would know it was no suicide. The mad man was too enraged to think about that, and happily delivered each blow with enough force to keep Eames from ever actually getting to his feet or near the ladder.
“You got plenty of reasons to kill yourself, don’t you O?” the man asked smugly. “You let a classmate die because you didn’t report a murder. You’re gay and no one understands you. You’ve obviously got some kind of issue with your parents. The note will be easy enough to write.”
Arthur. Arthur understood him. Arthur needed him. Eames fought harder-the two-by-four was kicked from the loft in the scuffle, but somehow the rope got around his neck and his feet were right on the edge. The killer laughed-
A bang down at the barn door below pulled the killer’s attention to the ladder. Eames grabbed hold of the rope just as the man shoved him over the edge.
Chapter 20