Someone to Turn to.

Bob/Bart

Summery: Slash. Sometimes, even the smallest of events can trigger something bigger; thoughts and feelings can be easily misconstrued; and you discover friends where you never expected to find them. B/B.

The characters and the world of 'The Simpsons' belong not to me. I am but a poor slacker who enjoys to write and collects various cats. Also, I cannot vouch for this story's accuracy to the series (including ages). My bad. Please enjoy my (most likely, mistake-riddled) story.

"When you do things right, people won't be sure you've done anything at all." -'God' from 'Futurama'.

"Hey, Bart!"

Milhouse jogged over to his friend and offered a brief wave and a smile of greeting. School had just finished for the day and Bart Simpson was examining yet another failed test in the emptying car park.

"We'll have to reschedule our study night, I'm being taken out for dinner."

Bart frowned and finally looked up from the big red 'F' on his papers, pushing himself off from his leaning position against Milhouse's car. "Yeah, again?" he asked, obviously irked. "You cancelled last week, too, and look what happened!" he shoved the piece of paper at the other boy.

Milhouse didn't even look at it; he knew what was on it. Sighing up at the taller boy, Milhouse shook his head. "You could've studied without me, on your own…I did and I still passed."

"Well doesn't that make you a fucking smart arse then." Bart snapped, his grades putting him in a foul mood, before retracting his hand and marching off towards the exit of the car park, his bare arms feeling the bite of the cold weather. He didn't spare his only friend a glance as he waved sharply over his shoulder. "See ya later!"

Shaking his head some more, Milhouse got into his car and slid his key into the ignition. "Yeah, see ya, Bart," he mumbled softly but not unkindly, even though he knew that Bart couldn't hear him.

Considering he'd given up his ride home with Milhouse, Bart was forced to walk home as the bus had already left. It was cold outside and he now wished he'd brought a jacket or something with him. But then again, he hadn't known that Milhouse would ditch him again for his boyfriend. He didn't blame his bad grades on his friend; Bart just didn't seem to be able to concentrate on his homework properly unless there was someone else there helping and encouraging him, (his family certainly didn't jump to help him these days). But he was getting rather tired of being dumped so Millhouse could hang out with people the blue-headed boy seemed to deem more important. Including his illusive boyfriend that Bart had yet to even set eyes upon.

Bart scratched the back of his head irritably, still frustrated, but keen to walk it off.

In the shadows lurked a tall, lean figure, a little black notepad in one hand and a pen in the other. His seemingly unruly, red, curly hair was tucked neatly under a simple black hat, making him just that little bit more unrecognisable…the trench coat helped too.

Sideshow Bob, aka: Bob, scowled as he watched Bart Simpson walk home, scratching down a few words in his little book. He'd been stalking- no, watching Bart for a month now and still he'd not found a way to kill the boy! All he did was go to school, come home, watch TV, eat, sleep, then start all over again! There was nothing Bob could use to his advantage, nothing he could twist or provoke to make an opportunity appear for the ex-clown so he could murder the boy once and for all, and it irked him to no end. So he kept on watching, kept on waiting.

The boy was home now, and armed with a pair of binoculars and a perch in a leafy tree, Bob watched the boy enter, be practically ignored by his mother as she tended to the youngest of her spawns, and then climb the stairs to his room. His middle sister walked straight past his open doorway without even looking in, which Bart obviously noticed, before he slumped onto his bed and closed his eyes wearily.

Bob frowned, the family never used to be like that…had something changed so drastically whilst he was in prison?

Who knew, and really, who cared? He looked at the boy again to see him staring blankly at a wall. Apparently no one did…

The rest of the day was pretty much the same. The boy stared at the ceiling of his room, then attempted some homework only to sigh in frustration and throw it across his room and go back to the staring. It was late at night, when everyone in the Simpson household was fast asleep, that Bart sneaked out of his window in a black, hooded jumper and made off down the street. Bob followed at a distance.

As Bart walked, he pulled out a cigarette, lit it up with a cheap Kwik-E-Mart lighter and puffed on it. Bob made notes in his little book: 'Bart smokes. Under-age too. I wonder where he gets them from then' before watching him approach a bunch of shifty-looking teenagers/young men in the shadows. They were all smoking too and standing around in a dark circle. Bob didn't like the look of it; it was obvious that they represented trouble.

"Bart. Good timing, we need you to deliver something for us." one of the taller boys from the circle said as he faced the blond-haired, blue-eyed, seventeen-year-old boy. The rest of the conversation, though, was spoken too quietly for Bob to hear. But he got the gist of it, and that was that Bart was involved in some dangerous stuff…

"But that's on the other side of town!" Bart huffed, crossing his arms and refusing to take the tightly wrapped package. "You know I don't got a car or nuthin'. How am I supposed to get there?"

"That's your problem," the taller boy sneered before shoving the package into Bart's chest until the boy took it. "It better be delivered tonight and in the same condition I gave it to you in. Oh and you know the rules, don't open it."

He waved Bart off harshly before turning his back on him and facing his … 'friends'?

After hesitating for a moment, Bart scrunched his face up and left the group in a hurry, hugging the package close to his chest as if it were made of fragile glass.

Bob frowned once again as his eyes watched the boy scurrying off down the street, face down. He was delivering something? Most likely cash, drugs or stolen goods by the look of it… But, why? It was confusing, but that just made it all the more intriguing. He followed Bart in his car slowly for the better part of the night and watched the boy's fear-filled eyes. It was boring, and Bob was getting tired of watching the brat. When oh when will he find a way to kill him? He felt like tearing his hair out it was so frustrating!

Three guys suddenly swaggered out of an alley, instantly filling the air with the stench of alcohol and the sound of drunken chuckles. Bart stopped dead and was apparently frozen to the spot as he watched the men begin to cross the street. But one of the men unfortunately noticed young Bart and stopped.

"Heey! Lookie what we got here, guys!" he grinned.

Now this was interesting. Bob turned off his already almost silent engine and watched from a distance. Well, this might prove fruitful…

"What?" snapped one of the other men, who, after almost tripping over, stopped and looked at Bart. "Oh, a pretty little girl, aaall alone out here so late." he slurred, changing his direction towards the 'little girl'.

"I-I'm not a girl." Bart said as calmly as he could as he backed up a few steps. "I'm a boy, and I'm just passing through."

The third man, who seemed a lot less intoxicated than the others, smirked a little, whilst the two others just continued to advance on Bart. "Just passing through?" he said, looking almost offended. "And here I was thinking you'd come to play."

"Wait…you're not a girl?" the stringy brunette sounded confused, his weak eyes passing over Bart's body and face curiously. "You sure look like one. Probably just wish you were one then, aye?" he said stupidly with another grin.

"No…" Bart trailed off. His face, whereas it had been stony, was now an open book, showing just how scared he was at that moment. "Leave me alone."

He turned and started walking away briskly, but the men just laughed and ran after him, grabbing him from behind to stop him from running.

"Aw c'mon now," the drunkest of the three was the closest, filling Bart's nose and mouth with the stench of stale, cheap alcohol and sleaze. "I think we should all go back to my place and have a little party." he winked and laughed hysterically, the second drunkest joining in.

The sober one, or at least the one who was the least drunk, kept a firm hold on the boy. His eyes not only travelled over Bart's frame but also over the package. "Hey, what's this, kid?" he reached for it, only for Bart to cry out and turn away from him, hugging it even tighter.

"It's mine!"

But this just seemed to make the man even more curious and determined. He yanked the boy around and tried snatching the bundle, but Bart put up a fight. Soon, though, the two drunken men held his arms and the sober one was able to grab the package before giving Bart a harsh and echoing slap across the face. "Little shit…" he cursed, scowling, before he began opening his prize.

"NO! Don't!" Bart cried, struggling against the men, but even though they were drunk they were able to hold him back with their combined strength, all the while groping him sloppily with laughs of amusement. He yelled hopelessly, "Don't fucking touch me! Give that back!"

"Oh fuck…" the man murmured. He'd had got the package open and was staring at the contents.

"What is it?" the brunette asked, trying to lean over and see.

The sober man rolled the package up best he could and shoved it into the large inside pocket of his jacket before grinning at his comrades. "It's our lucky day! I'll show you what it is and we'll split it up when we get back." he leaned down so his face was level with Bart's and smirked evilly. "We really owe you, kid, for that. We'll pay you back when we all get back home."

Bart suddenly began struggling again full force as it sunk in what these men planned to do with him. He was terrified, but not so much that he couldn't spit straight into the sober man's face. It landed on target and Bart spared a triumphant smirk amongst his fear.

"You fucking brat!" the man yelled, quickly wiping it off with his sleeve before backhanding Bart again. Even harder this time. "You're in for it now! Fuck!"

The two drunken slobs couldn't help but try and smother their laughter, but failed, and burst out laughing at their friend.

"Shut it!" growled Spit-Face before grabbing Bart's collar and dragging him along as they set off down the street, the black-haired man petting Bart inappropriately all the way.

Bob was indecisive. On one hand he could let these thugs do his dirty work for him and torture Bart before most likely killing him, or he could save Bart so he could kill him himself. But, it certainly occurred to Bob that he'd never intended to torture Bart, merely kill him…and he was not a rapist, just the thought sickened him. Well, there was his answer he supposed…he'd have to stop those intoxicated, horny filths. Bart was his to kill anyway.

So, moving out from behind the dumpster which he'd been hiding behind so he could better hear what was being said, Bob stepped out in front of the men. "Excuse me, but I believe that," he said as he looked pointedly at a very surprised Bart, "isn't yours."

"Who tha fuck are you?" asked the brunette, his ugly face screwed up against the brightness of the street light in which the tall Bob stood in the glow of.

"Someone you, my good man, don't want to mess with." Bob lowered his voice dangerously and pulled a sharp-looking knife out from almost nowhere. "Now hand the boy over.

Bart didn't quite know which was worse. Going with these evil, drunk men or going with Sideshow Bob? Well, Bob just wanted to kill him, and he'd probably make it quick whilst these three men had very horrible plans in mind, Bart knew. Seeing his only hope of getting out of this mess (and into another, mind you) Bart suddenly bit down on the brunette's hand and wrenched himself out of the sober man's grasp before running to Bob. It had also occurred to Bart that Bob was never really very successful in his attempts to kill him. Maybe he'd get the chance to live after all.

"OW!" the brunette yelled, jumping up and down on the spot and cradling his bitten hand. "That fucking HURT!" he cried pitifully.

The black-haired man made an attempt to go after the boy, but Bob held his knife up and took a step forward, ignoring the petrified boy clinging to his side, and effectively making all three men cringe back into the shadows.

"Why don't you three just turn around and go home," Bob said firmly whilst his whole body tingled from having the boy so close. He could almost hear his screams now…

Still drunk and determined, the three men didn't obey Bob but instead took steps towards him slowly, cautiously. "He's ours! We found him! Finders keepers!" they protested.

Seeing that they wouldn't back down, Bob slowly started backing up, gripping Bart around the shoulders with one arm and pulling him back with him.

"I've been to jail more times than you three have probably ever changed your underwear combined; I wouldn't come any closer if I were you," Bob said as he glanced at their filthy clothes.

But they didn't stop; merely began to advance on the two faster as if they'd gained courage from somewhere. "Give him back, you prick, or else!"

Bob and Bart rounded a corner and bumped abruptly into something solid. Bob's car.

"Get in, Bart!" Bob hissed, yanking open the drivers' side door of his car and shoving the boy inside and over onto the passenger side seat before clambering in himself and slamming the door shut. He locked the door and briefly watched the men try to open it before starting the engine and immediately slamming his foot on the accelerator and speeding off. Fast.

Unable to speak just yet, Bart just breathed heavily and slowly blinked the unshod liquid from his eyes, his hands gripping the seat under him tightly. After about three minutes, he spared a glance at Bob to see the man staring intently at the road in front of him.

"…S-…Sideshow…Bob?"

"What?" Bob asked gruffly, his gaze never wavering from the road ahead.

"…Why are you…why did you…save me?" Bart finally managed to get out, his eyes still wide and his body still tense. He swallowed dryly and with slight difficulty as he waited for a reply.

The ex-clown seemed to hesitate, and for good reason too. "Unimportant. So tell me, Bart, what were you doing out so late at night and in such a shifty part of town?"

The boy grudgingly let Bob go with not answering his question when faced with a difficult one of his own. But, being Bart, he apparently decided to give Bob a taste of his own medicine. "That's unimportant." he said levelly.

Gripping the steering wheel a little tighter, Bob cursed the obtuse little brat in his head. "I see. Well, haven't you even got a 'thank you' for your rescuer? Or is it you think you 'didn't need my help'?" he almost spat the words out.

But Bart shook his head. "No, thank you, I thought I was a goner…" the young Simpson said, if not reluctantly. The confession of previous fear and of gratitude towards Bob shocked the man. It wasn't every day that Bob heard such things from the boy. Bart really seemed to have changed…not that it mattered to Bob besides maybe offering an opportunity to him. Then an idea so splendid, so evil, so sly hit Bob that he almost cracked a malicious grin right then and there! Befriend the boy…make him trust him. It wouldn't be hard considering Bart seemingly had no friends and his family paid him no mind at all. The boy was in desperate need of a good friend- of just someone. Then, killing him would be all too simple.

"Are you okay, Bart?" Bob asked, concern just dripping from his softened voice. "Those men didn't manage to hurt you before I could get you away did they?"

Bart immediately frowned at the redhead. "I don't think so…my face is sore from where that drunk bitch-slapped me, but that's all."

"Ah, yes." Bob murmured and glanced at Bart briefly as he drove, furrowing his eyebrows together in apparent worry. "That might bruise, but it'll certainly heal well enough in time."

"Why do you care?" Bart suddenly snapped, his frown full blown now. "Why did you save me? You've only ever wanted me dead! What's the deal?"

His eyes back on the road now, Bob was quick to reply this time. "There's no deal, Bart, I assure you. I'm merely a new man. I've realised the error of my ways in the past and want to fix them.

"Trying to kill a little boy over and over again hasn't been exactly the highlight of my life…" he said the first thing that popped into his head.

But the Simpson just snorted in amusement. "A new man? Yeah right." he raised a singular blond eyebrow at the tall redhead. "Do you seriously expect me to believe that?"

"I suppose not," Bob sighed as he pulled his car up to a stop. "But nevertheless I have changed and am forever sorry about my behavior from before, though I am aware that an apology will hardly make up for it. If you ever need anything, Bart, here's my number."

Bart picked up the little piece of paper that'd been flicked onto his lap and looked at the black numbers written there. That's when he looked out the window to see his house, just as he left it, right beside them. He looked back at Bob in something akin to almost awe. But then something in his memory screeched to a halt in the forefront of his mind. "The package…that guy took it…"

Sideshow Bob tilted his head a little and although he knew a little about the package, Bart didn't know that he knew. So he still asked: "Package? What package?"

Biting his lip as he glanced at Bob, Bart seemed to decided whether he should explain the man or not. But he eventually just shook his head, "Nothing. Uh, see ya, Sideshow Bob."

"Please, Bob, will do just fine."

"Oookay, see ya, Bob." Bart quickly opened the door and scooted outside before throwing it shut behind him as he ran to his front door, immensely surprised that Bob hadn't held him back at the last minute and knifed him. Or something.

Smiling to himself, Bob put his car into drive and left the Simpson household quietly. His new plan was working already. He pulled out his notebook and jotted down a few things as he drove. Now it was just a waiting game.

That night, Bart had his usual nightmares. Except they were worse than ever and left him tossing and turning, murmuring and whimpering; and although they didn't let up until morning, no one came in to comfort him.

Don't be too hard on me - I'm not exactly expecting to win a medal for this or anything. But you know how it is when you need to get something out of your head. -JDOL