John: Inwardly have a fucking panic attack.

He honestly hadn't expected the temperature to top 96° when his plane landed in Houston, Texas. Heat waves were dancing above the blacktop when those wheels touched down and John's stomach swirled right along with them. There were multiple reasons for the unease in his digestive tract. The most obvious at the time was that he had decided yes, it was a great idea to wear long khaki pants and his Slimer t-shirt to a place where the high was supposed to be 106 degrees. He was going to be sweating buckets the second he stepped off of this flying vehicle. John's nervousness was also caused by the fact that he was new to this state and was going to be spending all of the foreseeable future there. His father's job, John being unaware of what that even was, had him transferring halfway across the good old US of A. And being only fifteen years old, he had no choice but to just go along with it. He was uprooted from his prior home and forced to leave his (few) friends just so he could bake in this sweltering heat. It had taken him so long to build up the meager social life he possessed; now it was gone. All that was left was his online buddies. That was horribly pathetic seeing as he didn't even know their real names. They just played video games with each other, partook in the occasional feelings jam, and messed around over pesterChum. Their names were never exactly necessary information.

John Egbert shot up from his seat when a stewardess cleared her throat loudly beside him, wanting him up and off of the plane as soon as physically possible so the next round of passengers could board. He muttered incoherent apologies even when his head was hitting the overhead storage. Messenger bag slung over his left shoulder, John exited just for the sake of saving himself from further humiliation. The stewardess busied herself behind him by cleaning up all of the miniature pretzels that they gave away as in-flight snacks.

His buck teeth, which he was so terribly self conscious of, worried at his bottom lip throughout the entire process of getting his luggage from the baggage claim.

Dad had said it'd be better if John flew, while he himself rode along with the movers to make sure they didn't jack with any of their belongings. The young Egbert agreed post haste and was on a plane within the next twenty four hours. John blamed his poor planning on the short time span in which he had to prepare.

In his pocket, his phone made a cheerful dinging noise, signaling that a text message had arrived.

'I'm right outside with the car. You got all of your things, kiddo?'

Curse that nickname to Hell and back.

John typed back a quick, 'Yeah, almost there', and stowed the device in his khakis once more.

Much to his dismay it kept chiming at him incessantly until he pulled fished it out of his pocket.

- tentacleTherapist [TT] began pestering ectoBiologist [EB] at 15:38 -–

TT: Evening chum, any interesting shenanigans occur while I was gone?

TT: Oh, that's right, you're moving today.

TT: You must be on an airplane, no signal, ready to slam your forehead against the fold out tray.

TT: You poor pitiable thing.

EB: i'm actually getting in the car with my dad right now

EB: the flight wasn't so bad i just can't believe it's so hot here

TT: You never did mention where you're moving to. Feel free to fill me in on that minor detail whenever you like.

TT: If you couldn't guess, I'm quite curious as to where you're taking up residence.

TT: John?

TT: Are you still there?

- tentacleTherapist [TT] ceased pestering ectoBiologist [EB] at 15:56 –

He was, in fact, still there. But John was foolish enough to get roped into a conversation with his father once situated in the car. It was something about celebrating their big move and what kind of cake he'd prefer. After vehemently insisting that there was no need for baking, John was finally left to sit quietly and stare at out the window while listening to his father's humming.

Blue eyes were stuck on the buildings moving past them. Most of them were tall, lumbering things made of brick and had windows that caught the setting sun to give the illusion of being on fire. Some that sped by were short and stocky; storefronts with aged signs that were in desperate need of a face-lift. More and more of these were cropping up the closer they got to their destination. Those stubby stores turned into suburban houses with trees on either side, though, and John felt the need to acknowledge the fact that he wasn't in Kansas anymore. And what he really meant by that, was that he missed his home in Washington. He'd never even been to Kansas. Moreover, he probably could not locate it on a map. His disjointed thoughts were broken apart even further by the stopping of the car. John looked over at his dad who was exiting the vehicle, then up at the house they were parked in front of.

It was quaint, to say the very least. There was nothing special about it other than the fact that it had a large moving van parked in the drive way. The shutters were a lovely shade of red, he noted dryly.

Heaving a heavy sigh, John made his way inside. Some boxes were already stacked near the stairs or in the room where their contents would be placed. A few of them said 'John' on the side in Sharpie. Instead of picking them up like probably should have, John just toed them with his shoe and went upstairs to stake his claim on a bedroom. The house was three rooms, two with their own bathrooms, one of those being the master bedroom. The other was just a regular four walled room with a riveting view of their backyard. Those flowers, they were so beautiful they could bring grown men to tears. Either way, he had to choose before his dad went all weird on his and decided it was better to let the guest room be the one with the bathroom, because it was only logical. John dumped his messenger bag in the middle of the floor with a resounding thud on the oak paneling.

The walls were bare and white, nothing on them but a few nicks from whatever furniture had been previously placed there. There were two forward facing windows with pale blue curtains still hanging from whoever resided in this room before him. John decided that they had pretty good taste.

"John, come on down and help me unpack some of this stuff!"

Damn.

"I'll be right down!" John yelled back, one hand keeping him precariously spinning around the banister at the top of the stairs.

Dinner was quiet. Too quiet.

After sliding down the banister like they did in movies, and falling unceremoniously on his ass unlike what happened in said movies, John helped his father pull their lives out of a multitude of cardboard boxes. This went on for about two or three hours until his dad stopped to make dinner. Of course, the first thing he did was get a cake in the oven. Once seated at the table with the confection in the center, and then the food with real nutritional value placed around it, John waited for constant babbling. To his surprise, nothing came. By this point his father would normally be talking his ear off. They just listened to the sounds of their own chewing.

"So," John started after spooning some mashed potatoes into his mouth, "when do you start work?"

His father politely swallowed and replied, "Same day you go back to school, next Monday."

It was August wasn't it? He'd been so wrapped up in finding out he was moving over the summer to really notice the time slipping away from him.

"What grade are you in again? You know I'm not good at remembering these things."

"Eleventh," he said, "I'll be a junior."

His dad let out a nostalgic sigh, and John knew that he was going to have to sit through more reminiscing of his father's glory days. "I remember my junior year…"

That was his queue to zone the fuck out.

John: Somehow travel through time and be the cool kid.

It was Monday morning, blood was congealed on his cheek and partially on his neck, flaking off every time he turned his head to look for Bro. His palms were starting to sweat slightly due to the heat and his white-knuckled grip on the handle of his katana. None of this seemed to faze him, though. Dave Strider was in the middle of a strife, and if he slipped up even a little, he'd be suffering from it for at least a week.

"Bro, I don't have time for this," Dave almost growled, because he wasn't going to lose his composure over something so small. "School starts in like twenty fucking minutes."

Speaking was obviously a bad choice on his part. This momentary lapse in concentration resulted in the handle of a sword jabbing between his shoulder blades. As he bent over to groan in pain, the blunt edge of that same sword was brought harshly across his shins. Dave dropped down and let the katana fall from his hands. If he kept fighting, he'd be late for sure. Surrender was his only way out at this point. Plus, it wasn't as if Bro hadn't handed his ass to him on a silver platter before. One more time wouldn't kill him.

The gleaming point of Bro's sword caught underneath his chin and lifted it so he had to face his brother, shaded eyes narrowed. That smirk he was wearing was insufferable.

"You mean you don't have time for some brotherly bondi-"

"Bro, seriously I have to leav- fuck!"

Dave hissed as the tip was driven further into his flesh, to the point now where it actually drew blood. He'd slap a band-aid on it later and call it good.

"Whatever. Just clean yourself up before you leave, kid."

As if he was going to walk into school on the first day with blood on his face. He'd made that mistake freshman year. Never again. Never.

Once the blade was gone and Bro was walking down to their apartment, Dave rose to his feet and grumbled, "That's kind of what I was planning on doing."

Practically flying down the fire escape, he rushed to get ready. He scrubbed away the crimson stains as best he could without reopening the wound then changed into a new shirt. Gauze taped to his cheek and a bottle of apple juice in hand, the only healthy thing they had in that damned apartment, Dave was bolting out the door to spend another 180 days minimum at a place that he hated. Sometimes he wondered what made this shit worth it.

The worn out soles of his ironically trendy converse slapped against the concrete as he ran. He took the steps in front of the school two at a time and pushed past the few lingering students so he could slide into his seat as the bell rang.

To most people around him, he was just a flash of white and red and black. Bro would've been proud had he the capacity to feel proud of anything but himself.

Dave took the seat closest to the window, third row from the back. It was just close enough to get the gist of the lesson and far enough away that he could drift off whenever he wanted. He figured it was a good time to do just that after Ms. Moore called his name for attendance. Calloused fingertips pushed in a pair of over-used ear buds that were threaded up the back of his shirt so the teachers wouldn't notice him listening to music in class.

Sick beats flooded his mind, a strong bass line pounded in his ears, and that was all it took for Dave to forget about reality.

Welp, I am officially the master of starting things before finishing other things. This not only applies to my stories, but to my schoolwork, and to my art. Darn.

Either way, I think this is going to be pretty fun. I like the characters, the subject matter, and the fact that I get to cuss and stuff. ^^ A juvenile love of mine but whatever.

Updates will happen randomly.

And to certain people out there that are gonna be all 'John isn't gay!', well, you know what? He is in my head. I never invited you to the party in my head, so kindly leave, and stick to your happy corner of the world.

Gosh I am just an odd little duck today (joke between my family members and English classmates). I should start signing off as that...nah. Chickadee sounds cuter. And I just so happen to be adorable.

~Chickadee