A/N: This is probably the oddest fic we’ve ever written, which isn’t saying much because we only have one other fic out. We’re hoping to write more very soon.
By the way, Pyro’s here because we like him. :P Who cares about stupid things like “explanations” and... “plots”? As you know, we’re not really known for having those!
* * * * *
Lance looked to Scott. Stupid Summers, he thought in a vengeful tone to himself, in his head no less. Always gettin’ me in trouble, and yet, he has such a cute-- uhh... GLASSES! Boy, I wish I had glasses like that, because... they’re... cool! All I’ve got is a salad bowl to put on my head. Lousy salad bowl, why if I--
By this point, Lance was too far off the subject of Scott Summers to really remember why he was annoyed in the first place. Oh yeah... now he remembered, that whole “fight” thing.
It was Summers’ fault, of course! HE was the one who was too preoccupied with thinking about Red to notice that he was at--
My locker, damn it! He was at MY locker, disgracing it with his touch! Desanctifying it! Corroding it! Well, I suppose he wasn’t corroding it... In any case, he was on MY territory and I HAD to defend it by punching him in the head!
You see, Lance Alvers was a very territorial boy. He had even written his name on his salad bowl/helmet just in case one of the guys mistook it for an average eatin’ bowl. Of course, having his name on his costume kind of eliminated the purpose of “secret identity”, but oh well.
Suddenly! The door opened and Principal Darkholme stood there scowling at the two boys (one of whom was trying to tape his sunglasses back together with his eyes closed).
“Gee, Summers, you look like Stevie Wonder,” Lance quipped before turning his attention to the somewhat irate principal. Scott, meanwhile, would’ve glared at the rock tumbler, if only he had use of his eyes (although blasting him would’ve been fun, too. It wasn’t his fault he was at the wrong locker! After all, Jean had WAVED to him! That was enough to make any guy lightheaded!).
“Mr. Summers, Alvers,” she greeted coldly. “Come inside.”
Lance shrugged, stalking into the office after her while Scott put his mended glasses back on (though they were lopsided) and followed.
“I could give you boys detention,” she started, pausing to indicate that she really wasn’t going to do that, “but something’s come up recently. You see, there’s this Big Brother program that’s in serious need of volunteers, so... You guys are now officially ‘Big Brothers’. You’ll meet your kids this afternoon. Be back at the gym at 4:00, now get out of my sight.”
Well, that was short. Something tells me she wasn’t in a talkative mood today. Stupid Big Brother Program...
This set Lance off on a wild mumbling tangent on how stupid various things were and how stupid it was that he had to take care of some snot nosed kid and-- well, you get the picture. So rantful was he, that he didn’t notice when he was home until smacked into the door.
Smack!
“Most people knock with their hands, not their heads,” came a voice on the other side of the door.
Mumble “Stupid” mumble.
The door opened and Johnny looked at Lance with an arched eyebrow. “Tough day, sweet ‘eart?”
“Yes.”
“Why don’t ya tell your ol’ chum Pyro?”
Lance responded with pushing the blonde aside and walking in the house. He then mumbled some stuff about “stupid” this and that (one of said stupid things being “big brother”).
“Really? I wanna be a Big Brother!! Where do ya sign up?!”
Lance moaned. “I guess you could come with me-- where’s Pietro and the others?”
“They went for slushies or a lobotomy or somethin’, I dunno... Who cares? I’m gonna be a Big Brother!!” With an excited bounce he ran up the stairs and went to “brotherize” himself.
I can’t believe this! Lance lamented to himself, taking this time alone to wallow in self pity. You know, the teenage kind. No one loves me, I’m alone, yadda yadda angst blah-- and onto more relevent things! I can’t believe I have to be a Big Brother! And with Summers, no less. SUMMERS! He was trying to grin and grimace at the same time, and it wasn’t exactly working.
“What the ‘ell are you doin’?” St. John asked upon noticing Lance’s awkward expression.
“Nothing, let’s go,” Lance retorted in a fine grumble as he walked out the door and hopped into his trusty jeep, not bothering to notice if John was following or not. Turning his key in the ignition, he started the car with full intentions of leaving his freakishly chipper friend behind.
All was for naught, however, when John hopped into the car right before Lance pulled away.
“We’re takin’ a long trip, right?”
“The school’s four minutes away.”
“Great! I have music!” He giggled and popped a CD into the player.
“Did I say you could--” Lance started (remember, he’s territorial), but suddenly, strange music began to play. Folky music. “What the hell is this ‘Chickenman’ stuff?!” he exclaimed, looking totally confused. It made no sense at all! “I am an only child”? “Chickenman hold my hand”? What the hell?! He moved his hand to turn this girly folky stuff off, but was stopped by St. John.
“This is the best part!”
“It sounds like all the other ‘parts’,” Lance mumbled.
“I ‘eard that! Yooou will liiiike them!” He completed this statement with a spooky, hypnotic handmotion.
Lance wanted to kick the blonde out of the car, but realized it was too late because they were already at the school and kicking John out then wouldn’t hurt very much. That said, Lance parked the car and started stalking into the building.
“Oh, fine, Mr. Grumpy-pants!” John called after him, though he was mostly ignored as Lance continued into the school. He didn’t really want to know what “Mr. Grumpy-Pants” meant. In fact, all thoughts of “Mr. Grumpy-Pants” were wiped clear of his head as Lance walked into the school and stopped dead in his tracks as a horrible sight befell him.
Children. Lots and lots of... children. Lance shuddered. They all looked the same; all little Poke-- or whatever-mon obsessed freaks who ran around with their Nintendo Gamecubeboys and all that technology jazz. Why, in his day, they had to throw sticks at each other for entertainment... and they liked it, damn it!
It was then that a child struck his attention, however. He wasn’t like the other boys. Maybe it had to do with him sitting there slamming his head into the floor multiple times. This made Lance like the kid more. He had to admit, the little guy had... potential.
Lance looked around. There were a lot of people he knew there-- in fact, the Brotherhood was there in its sans-Lance and Johnny entirety!
Crap! I gotta make this fast so they don’t see me!
“All right everyone, pair up with a kid and sign out for your first day as Big Brothers and Sisters!” the overenthusiastic sponsor cried overenthusiastically. What could Lance say, he wasn’t very good with... adjectives and words and stuff.
Well, if he had to pick a kid, Lance figured he’d pick the head-smashy kid. He decided to walk over sneakily and say hello.
“Hey, uh... little... guy.”
Wham!
“So... you like that floor, huh?”
Wham!!
“Oh brother,” Lance muttered.
WHAM!!
* * * * *
Scott entered the gym looking less than exuberant. It wasn’t that he disliked children-- oh no, quite the opposite. However, this batch of children... Let’s just say they were “special” and leave it at that. It was then that he noticed one little child off by himself with a bucket on his head. Suddenly, without warning, Bucket-Kid ran fullspeed into the wall. He fell down and mumbled laughter could be distinguished from under the bucket as the kid got up and smashed into the adjacent wall.
“I’m not picking that kid,” he declared to himself. All around him, kids ran around screaming and playing various stupid child games. “Great, the leaders of tomorrow,” he mumbled sarcastically.
Suddenly, he heard from behind him: “GREAT! The leaders of tomorrow!!”
Wonderful. It was that Australian idiot who hung around the Brotherhood for NO APPARENT REASON.
“I call the kid with the bucket!”
“No, he’s MINE!” Todd Tolensky declared, grabbing onto the child by the handle of his bucket.
“Damn,” the Aussie muttered, stalking off to find some other kid.
Just then, Scott became acutely aware of a... thing... tugging at his pant leg. Arching his eyebrow in that confused Scott Summers way, he looked down and beheld... a little boy with glasses and an inhaler hanging around his neck.
“Will you be my friend, Mister?” he asked, looking up with big brown puppy-dog eyes.
Aww, Scott thought, his heart melting. I had brown eyes once-- I think.
“Mister, why are you wearing sunglasses, Mister? We’re inside, Mister.”
“Stop calling me ‘Mister’, my name is Scott! And it’s an eye-issue...”
“Oh, okay, Mist-- er... Scott.”
Scott sighed. “What’s your name?”
“ASTHMANAUT!” the child practically exclaimed, puffing himself up as much as a little kid with an inhaler possibly could.
“...really?” Scott couldn’t help but wondering where all these children came from, actually... “What’s your real name, kiddo?”
“ASTHMANAUT!”
“Okay, fine, ‘Asthmanaut’,” Scott said in a dry voice. “Let’s go sign up, huh?”
“Yay! I have a friend! You can be my sidekick!”
“Great,” he replied, feigning interest. “What should I be called?”
“Um... SHADES!”
Meanwhile, across the gym, Lance declared “I like him!” WHAM! “Damn it! Stop that!”
* * * * *
About an hour later, all was well and signed up. The Brotherhood-- sans Pietro-- stood around the parking lot, wondering what to do with these kids now that they had them.
“Who in their right mind would entrust kids to us, yo?” Todd asked. A small “Yo” emitted from under the bucket of his chosen kid who had no name but Bucket-Kid.
“I guess they wanted a break. I don’t blame ‘em,” Lance answered as his own kid hit his head against the pavement. Wham! “So, hey, I never figured out your name, kid.”
“Slab.” Wham!
“Uh... Cool! What about you, Freddy?”
“This is Cedrick Samson, but uhh... he’s got a real bad lisp,” he said in a low voice, as if attempting to protect little Cedrick from the harsh truth.
“Guys, meet SUZIE!!” St. John exclaimed giddily as he presented his find to the Brotherhood. Out of all the kids, his seemed the least screwed up. She was a nice little girl-- clean-- with red pigtails and a little blue dress. Oh yes, and the standard All-American freckles.
“G’day!” she said in a chirpy voice, trying to imitate her “Big Brother”.
St. John beamed proudly. “That’s my girl!”
Suddenly, a flash of fruity colors entered the scene, and an aggravated looking Pietro arrived.
“Hey, where’ve you been?” Todd asked the irate speed demon.
“I was getting a slush-- I mean, I was... sleeping!”
“Oh. Did ya get a kid yet?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“And what?” Pietro asked.
“Where is he?” Lance questioned flatly.
“I’m still... waiting for him to make his way across the gym. He’s been walking for the past five minutes! And he doesn’t speak English! As far as I can tell, this is an all new, unique language known only to him! What the hell does ‘floob’ mean, anyway?!”
“I have no idea, but maybe you should go back and get him.”
“Fine, fine...” the quasi-albino grumbled. “Figures I’d get stuck with the broken kid.”
“Well, first come, first serve. That’s why I got SUZIE!!”
“Shut up, Aussie!”
Wham!!
* * * * *
A/N: More to come! Is Johnny the Crocodile Hunter? Does Pietro’s kid really speak some strange alien language? Does Bucket-Kid have a name? And what’s the secret to Asthmanaut’s mysterious nonexistent powers?! Also, romance will be here eventually-- we hope!