As a warning, I'm currently reworking this story because I think I could do much better. I'll be making a few tweaks to the plot and a few changes here and there, but it'll mainly just be pretty similar. The only thing is that I may be including a few more plot elements. As a rough guide, if the story's in first person, it hasn't been updated yet. Hope you enjoy it.
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Regretably.
You would expect a nerd to know better than to walk home unprotected.
Between the rain crashing against the pavement in the cold and the dim light glowing eerily from the street lamps that weren't broken, Bucky doubted he'd have been out at all had it not been Wednesday night, and therefore roleplaying night at Dragon's Wing Comics. Now came the attempts to avoid prefects punishing any evildoers for the heinous crime of being a minute late to bed. The boy seemed to sense this, running forward like a hyperactive greyhound in an attempt to get back to school on time. After a few seconds of running- he wasn't made for track- an ache seeped into his puny leg muscles, making him pause for a moment to glance at his watch. Eleven. He was late anyway now. What point was there in getting injured? Besides, it was cold- a nerd out and alone on a summer night was just asking to be beaten, but what was there to fear on a November night, when everyone else would be tucked up in bed?
His senses woke up once he began dawdling back to the school; stars glittered in the copper sulphate sky, the cold wind wrapped itself around Bucky like a barbed wire coat, and the smell of wet pavement danced in the air, mingling with smoke from the spluttering, wheezing cars coughing their way along the road, almost begging someone to send them to the scrapheap. As the traffic began to die away, new sounds and sights became apparent; clothes tinged inky blue from the dark, slurred laughter sneaking towards the nerd, a drunken roar...
"Bucky! How are you, my friend?"
"Oh, um... fine, thank you, T-"
"Good, good. You've done our essays, haven't you?" a bottle slipped from the boy's grip, giving Bucky a slip second to step back as the two other figures snorted, beer strangling the boys' chortling.
"Good," The other boy stretched his palm out expectantly. Cold drops of panic appeared on Bucky's forehead.
"They're... err... in the dorms! Yeah... So I'll give you them in the morning," the nerd squeaked, edging away. He'd pulled all night essay writing off before, and Melvin would most likely help out if Bucky gave him a soda for his troubles.
Annoyance flickered through the bloodshot brown eyes as Bucky's own eyes frantically darted around me like a ball in a pinball machine.
"No matter... We'll walk back with you for them," Bucky's heart dropped into his stomach. He took a deep breath of cold air. The longer he kept quiet, the worse his punishment would be.
"I haven't done it," What was meant as a casual statement betrayed betrayed the nerd's calm demeanor. Anger flashed across three partially lit faces.
"What?" Bucky felt his legs tremor , knowing they needed to run soon .
"I-I can get them done!" he squeaked, know enough about ethanol to realise that someone under the influence of it was easy to anger and hard to calm, knowledge which unfortunately proved to be accurate.
"Really?" a deeper voice snarled. "And how do you intend to do that in a few hours? You said they'd be done,"
"I know! And they will be, but please just give me till the morning,"
"You agreed tonight. Pathetic!" The insult was punctuated with shoves and jabs. "Typical, isn't it?"
"Completely," his accomplice muttered. "It's our own fault for depending on the wimp,"
"Maybe so. What were we expecting from a boy whose best friend is his mad granny?"
"Leave her out of it, you vile neanderthal! At least my family actually like me!"
No sooner than the words left his mouth did regret set it. If they'd been mad before, his words were a red flag to a bull. They'd kill him now, he was sure of it. In a futile move, Bucky turned and darted off- or tried to- as though the paving stones were hot coals, tripping over his own shoes and thudding to the floor, gravel digging into his cheek. A foot slammed into his ribs, sending searing pain to scream through Bucky's body. He squeezed his eyes shut.
"Crap," The boys stepped back in horror at their handiwork. "He's alive, right?" No one spoke. One of the boys stepped forward and reached out towards the unmoving boy.
"What are you doing?"
"Checking his pulse," the boy jerked his hand away from Bucky's skin the second he touched it, staring at the warm liquid on his fingertips. Blood. "Oh God..."
"What? Is he ali-" A man's o "Hey! What's going on over there?"
"They'll take care of him, just run!" There was no point arguing. The other two boys obeyed and vanished down the road after him, easily outrunning the unwitting witness. The man turned his head and sighed.
"Damn kids," If he got home and Norton wasn't there, he'd kill him. What had those boys been doing, anyway? The policeman edged forward, pointing the flashlight. At first glance, there was nothing there he hadn't been expecting. A broken bottle, small stones, a few bits of garbage. The light creeped along the pavement, catching sight of an outstreched arm laid on the floor. He muttered a word he'd have grounded his son for. "Kid, you ok?" No answer. He stepped forward to get a better look. "Kid?" Bucky's injuries were more apparent in the bright light; lavender bruises bloomed on lily white skin, poppy red liquid dripping from his face. His face was frighteningly still, his eyes closed.