Good Boys Go to Class. Others Don't.

Who: Chance and Dean
When: Afternoon
Where: Outside

There was the occasional wondering as to why Chance was at school at all. He'd already ditched three classes, and was planning on ditching on his fourth when he came out of hiding during lunch. He didn't want to really admit that he'd been avoiding Jordan and Kaysen, but he was. He didn't think he could deal with either of them given his mood, and knowing he still had to go to Devon's funeral shortly after school. Given how heavy everything felt at the moment, he was pretty damn sure he couldn't handle the mundane atmosphere of class and pretend he actually gave a shit about chemistry or calculus. He was actually kind of wishing he had some weed, even though he hadn't touched the stuff since last winter. The thought kind of made him itchy and restless and he shoved his hand through his hair, moving through the halls quickly to try to get to his destination without incident. Kids were starting to get up and move now that lunch was over and once he was outside of the school, he found the nearest, vacant corner just outside the doors, flung his book bag down and pulled out a dark sharpie marker. Sitting down against the wall, knees drawn up, he spent a couple seconds absently coloring in his nails with the black ink before he got bored and turned the marker against the side of the school building where he began to write, brows drawn together in concentration as he darkened in each, large letter. It didn't occur to him, or he just didn't care, that he was defacing school property. It wouldn't have been the first time and he was pretty sure it wouldn't be the last. No one was bound to catch him out there anyway and if they did? Well, they could be happy he was fucking up the school instead of their car.

Dean still felt like he was living a double life, even more so today. The separation was becoming more and more apparent all the time, though this afternoon he felt like he wasn't just leading a double life, but possibly a triple one as well, given the lunch hour he'd spent sitting with everyone discussing possible plans for if things went pear-shaped again in the future. He was having trouble juggling all his personalities right now. 'Dean the normal guy' for his parents and his friends back home; 'Dean the normal guy in mourning' for half the school and his teachers; 'Dean the guy in mourning who knows about the weird' for that select group of people who'd been at the mine with him and then 'Dean the guy whose best friend didn't die' for everyone else. It was disorientating, trying to remember who he was and when he should be being that particular guy. And then there was class on top of that, and the possibility that Thia's dad was going to come hunting her down at any moment, and the fact that after school he had to go visit a fairly daunting witch to talk protection spells, then he'd be expected home to look into Thia's new found ability to phase out of existence. Plus, there was homework as well. Good bloody job it was nearly the weekend.

It was all getting too much and he needed a break - which was why on his way to his class he decided that he couldn't face it and did something he hadn't done since Thia'd come back. He skipped. She had her schooling sorted out now, she didn't need him to pick up the work for her any more, and he'd only been going to every class because of that. He could deal with skipping a period, so he turned right instead of left and headed outside as the crowds began to disperse, feeling immediately better for the decision, like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He wandered for a moment, but when he heard footsteps coming up behind him, he ducked into a shadowed corner, just in time to see a staff member round the corner and walk past, not seeing him - he'd almost been busted then as he took a step back and promptly feel over someone's book bag.

Chance had glanced over when he felt another's presence near him and had been fully expected to come face to face with a teacher. Instead, he simply watched some guy fall over his book bag in attempt to hide from the teacher who actually did walk past them, oblivious to both of the boys in the dark corner. Chance rolled his eyes, both at the stupidity of certain teachers, and at the kid who had fallen over like a jackass. "Jesus man, you've got to be more stealthy than that if you don't want to get caught skipping around here," Chance told him, reaching out to yank his book bag away from the guy and drop it to his other side carelessly. He recognized him, more as in knew the guy's face than knew who he was. He'd always been with Lullaby before she got shot. Poor sucker. "And it'd be great if you didn't take me down with you."

Dean didn't quite managed to regain his balance after his stumble and, rather than fall flat on his arse, he sat down heavily - which let him regain a tiny amount of dignity, though he still felt like an idiot. "Didn't expect anyone to be here," he told the other guy. "And she didn't see me, did she - so no harm done. Heard her coming a mile off anyways," he added. There was no way she'd've caught him, less she was looking specifically for people bunking off, and it would have been a smooth move of his if there hadn't been a bag lying there, or so Dean decided.

Chance was mildly perturbed that he hadn't heard her, given he was usually aware of his surroundings when he was skipping. He probably could have been caught and never had seen it coming, given how distracted he had been. It just made his scowl deepen. "Yeah, but she could have seen you. Or heard you fall on your ass," Chance pointed out, turning back to scribbling on the wall. "Which I'm surprised she didn't, actually, so I guess you lucked out. Or rather, we did. What are you doing out here anyway? Probably not the best impression to make already, being a new kid and ditching class. Not the best way to score points with the administration."

"Couldn't face this afternoon," Dean told him, not adding that the administration had been going light on him lately anyhow. It being known that your best friend had been shot in cold blood did that, generally. He could have added that, but he didn't - he refused to use Thia as an excuse for anything and he especially refused to use her death as an excuse when it hadn't happened. "What'd your story - or is this just some new form of creative art class?" he asked, eyeing the scrawl.

Glancing over at Dean, Chance finished the writing and dropped the sharpie away from the wall to his knee. "I don't think they'd really appreciate this as creative art," he said, reaching up with his free hand to run it through his already messy hair. "They're not big fans of what I consider art, given I use the school as my own personal canvas most of the time." The writing was fairly legible, darkened in with the marker. He found when he started to delve into his darker moods, he focused on death more than he really ought to be. It was still one of his favorite quotes, one he related to more than any other, especially now that he felt more than alone than he had in a long time. He swept his gaze over the writing, Time takes it all, whether you want it to or not. Time takes it all, time bears it away and in the end there is only darkness. Sometimes we find others in that darkness - and sometimes we lose them there again., before turning to Dean. "My story was that I was fucking bored, and I didn't think I could get through calculus without bashing someone's head in with my desk. I think this is much more therapeutic, in a non-violent kind of way."

Dean chuckled a little at that as he leant forward and rad the words, before looking at Chance as he spoke. "That you, or a quote?" he asked, wondering if it was going to turn out to be some famous quote or something, just to extent his 'you're a fucking idiot, Conway' run.

Despite his mood, Chance felt his lips twitch just briefly. "Yeah, I wish it were mine. It's actually Stephen King." Hell, who knew. Maybe someday some loser kid would be scribbling Chance's words onto the side of a building. Yeah, right. "I'm thinking the principal should be happy I'm finding a quiet, solitary outlet for my... creativeness." There was a grin, though it didn't really hold any kind of humor. He tapped his marker against his knee restlessly for a moment. "You wanna write something?" he asked, lifting the marker up in offering. "Tap into your own artistic streak? If you've got one anyway."

Dean took the pen and shifted over to the wall, finding a nice blank spot. Thia'd probably throw a fit about him doing this, but she seemed to think he was a lot nicer a guy than was probably true as it was. "Not really a writer," he said over his shoulder before he started to draw, just a couple of cartoonish characters, careful not to make them look like anyone he knew - he didn't want to get anyone in trouble, after all.

"Doesn't really matter." Chance watched Dean draw, trying to find it in himself to be pleased that someone was willing to break the rules alongside him. He instead found himself oddly detached from it, though a tiny bit amused at the drawings. He glanced at Dean again, more focused now than he had been before. He drew his brows together a bit at the guy. He reached up to rub at his eyes for a brief second, wondering if lack of sleep and meds had been doing something to him. He couldn't tell if it was the shadowy corner, or what, but he could have sworn he saw tiny bits of black sort of hanging around him. Without really thinking about it, he reached out to see if he could physically touch one... maybe it was just... dirt floating up from the ground Pig Pen style. Or maybe Chance was truly going insane.

Dean's focus was on the wall in front of him, adding in little shadows to his shapes, a hint of background, finishing his drawing off, so he didn't catch what Chance was doing. As it was, because he couldn't see negative energy the way Chance could, if would only have looked like the guy was waving his hands around his head anyhow.

Chance frowned and pulled back his hand from Dean. He wasn't crazy. There were black wisps there. Not many, but he could still see them. He wondered whether he should say something or not. He knew if he did, the guy would probably think he was mental. Which, maybe he was. Chance forced his gaze away from the little dark clouds to what Dean was drawing on the wall. "Did anyone in particular inspire that?" he asked, trying to ignore what was hovering around Dean.

Dean looked back round again as he finished off and he leaned back against the wall, offering Chance the pen back. He glanced at the drawing and chuckled a little, one side of his mouth curving up slightly - really, the closest he ever got to an actual smile. "Nah, just made it up - all in my head mate," he told him.

He took the sharpie back from Dean and studied the figures for a moment. He leaned forward and quickly drew his own figure, though he was a shit artist, so it didn't turn out all that well. He hurried through the basics, only somewhat mimicking what Dean had drawn before he paused. After a beat, he added tiny black squiggly lines radiating off of the figure, the way they were seemingly surrounding Dean. "Strange, the things that come from our minds," Chance mused, more to himself than anyway. He reached up and rubbed his wrist over his forehead before looking over at Dean again. "You were Lullaby's friend. What's your name?"

Dean frowned and looked at what Chance had just drawn. He looked over, then back at the wall. "Dean - you?" he asked, still studying the figure, looking between Chance and the drawing. "That's a hell of a hair do," he said in the end, sounding incredibly unsure.

"Chance." His eyes were back and focused on the figure. His lips twitched again. It was like he was too tired to even smile properly anymore. "I'm a shit artist. It's not hair. I don't know what it is." Which was the truth, glancing at Dean again. Dark magic maybe? Negative energy? The guy didn't seem overly sour, though Chance was aware the guy's friend had just recently died. It had to be something, but did it even matter? Maybe it was all in Chance's head. It wouldn't be the first time he supposedly hallucinated. "Still trying to figure that out."

"Trying to figure it out?" Dean asked, raising an eyebrow. "So, what, just something you imagined?" he asked, since it was weird, like a guy with radiowaves coming off him in little black squiggles.

"I don't know," Chance admitted. He tapped his pen against his knee restlessly again. "You ever see something and don't know what it is?" Yeah, he was probably going to scare this kid off for sure. Not that he cared, but how many students did Chance see with little black clouds coming off of them? It screamed weird to him.

"Erm, sometimes, I guess. And you see... waves?" he asked, feeling that uncomfortable feeling coming back, though, really, he'd just been spending far too much time with Thia lately, hadn't he? Yes, yes, yes he had. It was just... "What kind of waves?" he asked.

Chuckling humorlessly, Chance forced the pen to stop bouncing against his leg and he ran his hand through his hair again. Telling this guy he saw things could easily confirm whatever this guy had heard about him. If anything. If he hadn't, he certainly would believe every bad thing he'd hear about Chance later. Then again, he was the one with the dark wisps coming off of him, not Chance. And in Marquette? That usually meant something more than Reed forgot to take his meds again. His jaw clenched under the strain of debate in his mind before he squinted over at Dean. "They're like... little black wisps. Not a lot of them... just a little bit. I don't know how to explain it, man. Maybe I've been out in the sun too long today." He turned to grab his bookbag and shove the pen back in, hefting it up over his shoulder.

Dean paused, wondering whether to say anything or keep silent about that. Because, well, that sounded really damn familiar. Really, really damn familiar. And - was the guy talking about him? Or generally. Because it sounded like negative energy and he knew - Thia had told him that he always had these little wisps. That was how she put it almost exactly - little wisps. That she saw them off other people when they felt bad, but that from him they were always there and when he was upset, or angry, or something, he was almost surrounded, that it was unmissable. But Thia was a fade, he'd never of anyone else seeing them. Then again, until a few weeks ago, he hadn't heard of vampires, or werewolves, or anything like that, so he was betting there was a lot out there he still didn't know about. So, for now, he'd keep schtum.

Yeah, Dean probably thought he was nuts. Not that Chance cared much at all, because half of the school did anyway. He frowned and looked back at the drawing. He very nearly asked just what Dean was, if anything, just to get it out there and find out if he was indeed, losing it. But he kept his mouth shut and forced himself to his feet. "Sorry about Draven," Chance mumbled a bit absently.

Anything he had been going to say died on his lips anyhow as Chance said that and Dean got a blunt force reminder of the person he was supposed to be - the person who had lost his best friend less than two weeks ago. And that brought back all the memories of the days he had lost her, pain welling up inside, sending the invisible black spirals shooting off, each individual line thick and heavy as the amount of black around him generally increased.

Watching Dean, Chance's eyes widened just a touch as the black wisps grew around him. What... the fuck. It had to be something to do with what he'd just said. Was it negative energy? Chance faced Dean squarely, noting he hadn't responded and decided to test the theory. "Did they ever find out who gunned her down?" The question was blunt and direct, designed to invoke some kind of emotional shift. It was designed, really, to upset Dean enough that maybe the black lines would grow even more.

The reaction was instantaneous, the lines thickened more, adding in some very sharp spikes which erupted from the rest as Dean's emotional pain was broken by a sharp stab of pure anger at the blunt question. His jaw tightened and his face set as he answered. "No. They didn't," he said, his voice tight.

Holy shit. This guy was something, that was for damn sure. The way the wisps had grown, and darkened and now they were increasing around him. They had been there... and then Chance mentioned Lullaby and they grew... now with his fairly insensitive question... yeah. Chance nearly grinned before controlling himself, though it was more out of reaction of his theory working out and the dark lines increasing in quantity and size than anything to do with Lullaby Draven. "That's too bad," Chance said, shifting his bag on his shoulder again. "I heard that some of her blood was still staining the sidewalk where she died. Morbid shit." Okay, so now he was pushing it, but he couldn't help it. The dark lines were fucking fascinating and honestly, Chance was caring much at all about how he was coming across. He just wanted to see how dark those things could get. If Dean even knew they were there.

Dean couldn't see the lines, which was a bloody good job since they grew so much with that that seeing would have been an issue for the guy if he had been able to. But, to him, they were invisible - all he knew was that those words made him see red. Without a pause, or thinking twice, he balled up his fist and pulled back, shifting into a better position before slamming his fist as hard as he could into Chance's face for that, launching himself at the guy.

Chance had sort of been expecting that. He took it without trying to defend himself, tasting blood almost immediately as Dean's fist connected with his face. The dark clouds though... those were fucking amazing. He stumbled back at the force of it and dropped his bag to the ground before turning to shove Dean away from him, seemingly feeding off the negative energy radiating around them. In a sick, twisted way, he kind of felt better. His lip was bleeding into his mouth, and his jaw fucking hurt, but it had been worth it. Even now he could barely see Dean through the dark. "Calm the fuck down, man," Chance managed, spitting blood as he did so. "It's just the black shit around you...it's growing."

"Don't fucking tell me to fucking calm down," Dean spat, going for the guy again as he was pushed away. It didn't matter whether Thia was alive or dead - he wasn't going to take some nob talking about her death like that, about her blood on the pavement. Fuck that noise, no way. No, this guy would hurt for that.

Ignoring the blood pooling in his mouth, Chance pushed at Dean again, bracing himself for another punch if it came. "Don't make me have to defend myself man. I'm not looking to kick your ass." Which he fucking would, if he had too. It might make him feel better. Plowing his fist into some asshole's face might alleviate some of his own pain. "I was only saying that shit because the more upset you got, the darker the fucking lines were getting... the more of them. You're nearly covered man. I don't know what that shit is... you wanna fucking punch me again, do it, but there's only so many freebies I'll give you."

Dean was marginally taller than this guy and he'd been in a fair few fights himself, but he was also younger and not used to getting into anything without friends to back him up. But still, he grabbed Chance by the neck of his top, not hitting him, but right up there in his face. "You fucking. ignorant. twat," he ground out. Because what Chance had said had got through, not that it had really helped in the slightest - somehow being told he was being wound up on the obviously most painful subject there could possibly be, just as a test didn't make him want to calm down and be reasonable. On the contrary, it made him want to bash this guy's face into the ground. Repeatedly.

"Yeah, probably," Chance agreed, trying to reach deep down inside of him and find some part of him that actually cared. Unfortunately, he couldn't. Everything just felt vacant but for what he was immersing himself in. Negativity and pain. And it made him feel better, in a twisted way. He reached up to knock Dean's hand off of his neck roughly, deciding if he was the asshole, he might as well play the part. He felt fucked anyway. "But I'm not the one who looks like he's wearing a fucking black cloud. So unless you're gonna hit me again, back the fuck up."

Dean let go, but pushed Chance hard back against the wall with both hands as he did so, before taking a step back. "I should break your fucking jaw for that, you little git," he told him, ignoring the pain that was beginning to throb in his right hand where he'd socked the guy one earlier. "You're sick, you know that," he spat, before turning and picking up his bag, starting away.

Chance stayed where he was and bit back the urge to tackle the guy to the ground and bloody his fist in his face. It was a rare day when Chance actually kept himself from fighting back, which he sort of knew meant bad things. But he didn't care. That seemed to be his mantra lately... not caring. "Yeah, I know," he replied, though he didn't know if Dean actually heard him. He watched the guy walk away and moved away from the wall. Turning, he studied the scribbled words and then the drawing he'd made of Dean and the little black lines coming off of him. Pooling some of the blood in his mouth, he spit it out on the wall over the drawing before reaching down to take his bag. Wiping his mouth with his hand, he felt the throbbing start in his face. He was going to bruise probably. Turning, he headed off for home. He was done with school for the day.