Chapter Text
The days after Travis was 'caught' by Sal while he broke down in the bathroom were a bit better.
Lighter.
He felt seen. Almost exposed, but Sal wouldn't do that to him. Travis didn't quite know if he liked it or hated it.
He supposed it was the better outcome to what, alternatively, could've been him being caught by his dad in his room.
Crying was typically a sign of "weakness". Or so his Father had told him.
It was embarrassing. He couldn't be perfect in the eyes of his own Father let alone God.
It's as if the world was against him and nobody else.
The world apart from one.
Sal Fisher.
That fucking blue-haired emo boy with his ragtag group of homos, always circling him like they belonged there.
But Travis supposed they did belong there.
He was the odd one out.
And that might be why he lashed out at them so often. He was jealous.
Nonono- jealous? Envy is a sin.
Travis looked up from his notebook he had been writing in, gazing at the vandalized bathroom stall door.
He sighs and clicks his pen a few times.
'Another period wasted in this shithole.' He thought to himself.
He spent hours a week in the cramped stall. During lunches, classes he would rather skip, and especially in the morning.
Travis would arrive as soon as possible as a way to avoid confrontation with his Father.
It didn't matter anyway, if the bastard wanted to get to him, he would.
And he does. Almost everyday.
Some days it's unbearable and he was no choice but to run out of the house, in fear of the injuries he would sustain if he stuck around.
He sudders and grips his sore arms at the thought.
《 BIIIIING 》
Travis startled at the bell and slammed his notebook shut, throwing it in his backpack before standing up and slinging it over his shoulder with a wince.
+++++++
July 24th 12:07pm
Sal Fisher.
The boy with the blue hair and "prosthetic face".
Nobody knows what he looks like under that mask besides his close friends.
He acts carefree and confident. It had to be a facade.
Theres no way someone of that lifestyle could truly be happy.
But there he is, a few seats away and smiling.
Well, as far as Travis could tell anyway.
He doesnt want to accept or believe it but he studies the eyes of the bluenette without thinking. He has it down to the way the skin around his aqua eyes crinkle and crease.
When his eyes get narrow he's frustrated.
When they get wide he's engaged.
If the fat underneath gets puffier, Travis can imagine a smile.
At every glance, his mind races with apologies to Jesus, and curses to himself.
He forces his eyes back to his assignment, untouched and intimidating.
Of course he didn't study.
The past few nights have either been spent in the basement chapel on his knees, or outside on his back porch or a park bench.
Walking around until his legs give out.
Til all he could think was 'why was this the life I was given?'.
He knows its pathetic. But Travis isn't brainwashed enough to believe it's all his fault.
His thoughts keep their pace, throwing themselves in every direction.
Eventually Travis begins to nod off. Lacking proper rest, his body is begging for what it needs.
Sal looks over at the blonde and purple heap that sits hunched over a desk.
Its been two or three days since Travis came back to school.
He had been gone for over a week, and it isnt hard to realize he isn't there. Considering the bullying he inflicts on the group on the regular.
But Sal is empathetic. He can't help it.
It was the day Trav came back.
Sal walked into the bathroom and immediately heard sniffling.
Being as kind as he is (and maybe curious), he asked the unknown person if they were okay.
He guessed obviously not, but what else would he have said? It was spur of the moment.
The crying halted instantly with a gasp.
Must've not even heard him come in.
Long story short, it was revealed Travis was the one breaking down and Sal was able to break through to him.
Sort of.
He wouldn't call it 'a win' per say, but it didn't end with him getting punched in the face.
Sal knows there is a lot more to Travis' story than he realizes, so he decides that even though he's been hurt by this boy, he wants to be someone to lean on rather than fight with.
Its what his mom would've wanted he's sure.
So once the bell rings and Travis still hasn't sat up, Sal decides to tell Ash (whom he shares this class with) to go to lunch without him.
She's confused but ultimately packs her things and heads out the door.
After the classroom clears out, Sal strides over to the blonde boy's desk.
He looks for a moment, just peering above the sleeping one, watching as he breathes in and out evenly.
Travis looks so much more at peace, he feels bad to have to wake him.
Sal ponders as he gazes into the older's face. His non-prosthetic eye traces the curve of the other's jaw to his lashes.
His fried hair falling across his face and over his high cheekbones.
He knows he's been staring for too long when Trav begins to stir, groaning as squints his eyes against the florescent school lights.
"Hey man, class is over..." Sal hesitates to overwhelm the other with words.
Travis doesn't acknowledge the boy standing in front of him yet, as he sits upright and looks around the classroom.
"Ah shit-... " He turns back to Sal and glares a bit. "What are you doing here."
He didnt mean for it to come off so cold but he guesses it suits the character he's been playing.
Still, he cringes a little when Sal pulls back.
"Well you're welcome, I wasn't going to let you sleep through lunch." He replies cooly despite the anxiety rising in his gut.
Travis' stomach lurches at the mention of a meal. He hasnt been able to bring himself to keep down anything big. In fact, just the thought of eating makes him feel sick.
So he turns away to pack his papers into his backpack without a word.
Sal stands there a bit awkwardly. But he doesn't move.
Instead he continues talking.
"I think the school is having bologna sandwiches today. Gross. But Chug won't pass one up. Are you-" He stops when he hears gagging, only to see Travis holding a hand over his mouth and the other gripping his stomach.
"Oh- dude!" Sal rushes to grab the small trashcan kept in the classroom and offers it to Travis.
It gets taken from his hands and Trav continues his retching over the container.
He stops after a few seconds with nothing having came up, thankfully.
"Maybe not hungry then..." Sal tries jokingly.
Travis just scowls at him through watery-red eyes.
"What is it you want Sally Face." It is not a good time.
"I was just... checking in? I guess? You know you dont have to avoid me. If it's my friends you're worried about-"
Travis cuts him off. "Look, just because you caught me being a bitch the other day doesn't make us friends. You're just lucky I wasn't in a violent mood."
Of course. Its typical for him, always feeling the need to threaten and intimidate anyone who tries him.
But to Trav, this seems so much different. Wrong. Why can't he just be nice to this guy? Would it kill him to accept a little help?
Sal doesn't move, or even flinch at the words. "If you don't want to be friends I can't force you. But you should know that I would welcome you..."
He pauses to watch the face of the taller, as he hoists himself to a standing position, now towering above Sal.
"...And I don't know what you've been through, but I do know that nobody deserves to be hurt. Even you, Travis." He finishes with a stare into the eyes leveled above his own.
It makes Travis' face heat up in a strange way. He's definitely uncomfortable. But... he doesn't look away.
Immediately his pupils retract as he imagines his Father whipping a ruler across his wrists for 'disrespecting God'.
His face scrunches up in anger (at what, he doesn't know) and pushes past Sally.
"Dont talk like you know what you're saying."
And with that, Travis is out of the door and starting down the hall, opposite of the cafeteria.
Sal stands in the spot he was left for a few moments, just thinking. About Travis mostly, but also why he feels the way he does right now.
His heart is racing, but he isn't scared. Almost... excited? But that isn't quite right either.
He sighs and stoops down by his desk to pick up his bag before leaving the room as well. Down the hall to his friends who are waiting for him.
The blonde boy with olive skin resting thoughtfully in the back of his mind. That image of his head perched upon his arms, eyes twitching ever so slightly.
He hopes he can get through.
+++++++
July 24th 7:12pm
Travis sits in his room at his desk. He has his bible open to Leviticus 20:13.
He reads the verse over and over, back to back.
"If a man lies with a male as lying with as woman, they both committed an abomina- tion; they certainly will die; their blood is upon them."
His hands move in practiced motions as he adds a sticky tab to note the section.
He knows it by heart, yet he feels he needs a reminder as of late.
Hah... the tab is blue.
His thoughts plagued by that... boy. He thinks to himself in disgust.
Though, he knows it isn't Sal he's disgusted by. Its only himself.
And his Father, for putting this awful paranoia in his head.
See, Trav knows his Father is mostly to blame for everything he's going through. From the abuse to the religious threats.
But this is how his life has been forever. He knows no other way to exsist without fear.
The situation is serious indeed but he insists on following every order given to him by his sorry excuse of a father.
With one more glance over the page of his bible, closes the book, setting his collection of tabs and a highlighter back where they belong.
He then sets his elbows on the desktop and interlaces his fingers together, bowing his head so his forehead rests on the knuckles of his thumbs.
"I come before you Lord in the name of your Son Jesus Christ..." he pauses. Then continues.
"I ask that you show me the correct path to your salvation, and with the blood of Jesus, wash my sinful thoughts away. Amen." He concludes rather quickly.
And with a stifled sigh, he unclasps his hands and goes to stand.
Right before he goes back down.
His balance is stolen and his eyes roll back.
God must be taking him down.
He barely even realizes he's on the floor until his vision begins clearing itself of black splotches.
As he gains consciousness of his surroundings once again, he feels a painful throb in his head. The kind that makes you want to throw up your organs.
Right. He hasnt eaten since Tuesday. And even before, he could barely swallow anything.
How he's managed to function this long with out food or proper sleep is beyond him. Maybe its God's will.
He doesn't move for a while. His Father is at a meeting with the church so he doesn't have to fear him getting pissed at the sound of Travis falling.
He decides if this is where God wants him tonight, he'll have to be okay with it.
Or maybe he just doesn't have the energy to get himself up.
Either way, he drifts in and out of an unrestful sleep. Subconsciously praying to become the ideal version of himself:
A straight, God-fearing, obedient, virtuous straight. man. Who is straight.
+++++++
July 25th 6:30am
Sal wakes with a start, as usual, to the sound of his alarm. A rattling 'bzzzzt' on his nightstand.
He shuts it off and stretches almost cat-like. As Larry likes to point out. And just lies in his bed until he's awake enough to pull himself out from under his warm comforter.
'I wonder if Travis will be at school today' is one of his first thoughts.
Another is of the interaction they had yesterday, when Trav stormed out of the room without looking back.
It hurt Sal a little more than he'd like to admit.
Weird to think it's worse than being made fun of to his face. But at this point, he knows Travis doesn't mean it. Mean as it is.
No, it was because Sal tried to get to close, he's sure. Flew too close to the sun, if you will.
After a few more thoughts about random parts of his days, he decides its time to get ready for school. So he sits up and swings his feet over the edge of his bed.
He trudges out of his room and to the bathroom where he flicks on the lightswitch and stops in front of the mirror.
Without his mask he never fails to stare at his own face, as if he's a spectacle, in every reflection he passes.
Slowly, he brings his hand up to the side of his face with worse scarring, just lining the edges with the tips of his fingers.
Eyes focused, movement precise. As if taking the wrong line would destroy the rest of him.
His middle finger lightly follows a particular edge leading to his mouth.
He brushes against and across the suface of his bottom lip thoughtfully.
'Even if I had the confidence to ditch the prosthetic, how could anyone...' Sal doesn't want to go there.
He's done enough wallowing in low self-esteem, and self-deprecation. He can't let himself be taken over like this.
So he turns the shower faucet over to hot and gets in.
Once Sal is dressed and has his hair in neat pigtails (ones he's thinking of switching up since he's wore them everyday this year so far), he grabs his backpack and exits his apartment.
He steps into the elevator and heads to the main floor. Larry should already be waiting for the bus.
Sure enough he gets down there and he spots Larry as well as Todd and Chug out of the front window.
"Sally faaace" Larry calls out in a sing-song voice.
"Larry face! How goes it?"
He joins them in the wait, and not long after the bus arrives, inclining them to make they're way to their unspoken designated seats.
While trailing behind Larry towards the back of the bus, he glances around for a yellow head of hair.
Nowhere.
He sighs to himself, but apparently loud enough for his best friend to hear, as he looks to Sal to find what the matter is.
"Whats up dude?" Larry confronts with a raised eyebrow as he takes his seat by the window.
Sal's attention snapped to the taller instantly, thinking of an explaination other than: "Man, I was hoping the one person who is tormenting 75% of the people at our school was going to be present, and I am disappointed that he isn't here."
Because that sounds stupid.
But maybe thats just the truth. He doesn't know why Travis is taking up so much mental space but its getting in the way, truth be told.
"Helloo, Sally what's your deal? Stay up too late on your Gameboy? I told you that game I lent to you was binge worthy." Larry attempts to joke.
Ignoring Larry's assumptions, Sal decides to just tell him about his determination to 'befriend' Travis Phelps.
"What?!" Larry exclaims a bit too loud for the quiet bus full of groggy teenagers. "You. Want to get Phelps. In with us? Is that even possible? I didn't think he could stand a single one of us."
Understandably, Larry is skeptical to say the least. But Sal is sure in his decision.
"Lar, he isn't as bad as- Well it's pretty bad to be a damn bully but, he really doesn't seem like the type. There are underlying problems that I think are causing him to treat people the way he does. I just want to see him happy, along with all of the students who are constantly picked on by him. I think they all deserve it, no?"
Larry stares in mock disbelief, but eventually caves with a sigh, leaning back into the seat.
"You always were the first to do some weird shit like this; just dont go getting yourself hurt. Otherwise I'll have to step in." He says the last part with a humorous tone, but it still held the weight of the message 'I trust you but I will also protect you if things go south'.
Sal just smiled victoriously as they started talking about different subjects on the way to school.
+++++++
July 25th 8:28am
It was nearing the end of first period when Sal overheard whispers from another side of the classroom.
He only caught a few sentences over the other hushed conversations around him, but what he could hear made him freeze.
"Did you see Travis Phelps this morning?"
".. like he messed with the wrong person finally..."
"... did not look good, ouch!"
That alone had Sal's head filling up with different scenarios of Travis being beaten down by someone twice his size, because of his big mouth.
That damn idiot can never just shut his face!
If they saw him, he must be at school then. 'I should definitely check on him, see if everything's okay.'
Sal thinks to himself.
'But... would he even want me to? He would probably just push me away and yell at me if I showed any type of sympathy...'
Once the bell rings, ending the first class of the day, Sal made up his mind.
He will try to talk to Travis again after 3rd period. The class they both have.
He concludes that the worst case scenario, he gets hit. Which has happened before so it isnt a big deal to him, he guesses.
Chapter 2: Psalm 140:1-6
Summary:
But the thoughts dont leave his mind, no.
They stay seated in every row of the theater.
Watching as they tear this poor boy's sense of self apart.
Notes:
second chapter!! wrote this over the course of like idk 8 hours?
not sure how i feel about the first half, i kept getting distracted. if need be, i will rewrite it.
i was suuuper tired all day and considering the things i write, i dont do very well as a functioning human!
second half though isn't too bad... um okay enjoii!!
TW!!! FOR EXPLICIT DESCRIPTIONS OF CHILD ABUSE AND SELF-HARM
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
July 25th 2:13am
Travis is dreaming.
Dreaming of being in his bed, and next to him, is his mother.
She was sitting on the edge of the bed, to the right of him, holding the book he was obsessed with at the time.
She had such a bright, loving smile on her face. So happy. So warm.
So alive.
Her chestnut hair, long and framing her beautiful face. Paired with short but thick dark lashes that made her look like she was wearing eyeliner.
She was so beautiful. His mom.
His heart ached in his slumber, permitting him to turn over on the carpeted floor beneath him. He lets out a painful groan.
His dream continues with the woman tucking a younger Travis tight into his covers.
She kisses his forhead softly and her frame lingers above him, as if to communicate her reluctance to part with him.
Travis can't speak, only allowed to gaze up at her. But if he could, he knows what he would say.
'Please don't go yet.
Stay here with me.
I can't be left alone with-'
He is woken up with an unforeseen kick straight to his ribcage.
His eyes snap open in shock mixed with an oncoming wave of pain. He chokes on the air struggling to fill his lungs.
"TRAVIS... TRAVIS!" A booming voice echos around in his head.
He looks up hesitantly, tears forming as his hands sheild his throbbing ribs.
"YOU LOOK PATHETIC ON THE FLOOR LIKE THAT! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?" Kenneth Phelps growls at the boy.
Travis doesn't answer right away but tries lifting himself up with his arms; shaking and shivering.
When did it get so cold? Its the middle of July...
《 SMMACK! 》
"YOU DARE IGNORE ME BOY?? YOU SHAMEFUL DISGRACE. YOU NEED TO LEARN MANNERS."
Travis nearly tumbles backwards, his back pressing against the leg of his desk as if he could meld with it. To hide away.
His face stings now, especially on the bone of his cheek, where the man's metal ring connected violently with it.
Tears begin to trail down his face, leaking from bleary eyes.
"I'm- ssorry... Father. Ah..." Travis' face twists in an ugly grimace.
"What the hell are you doing on the floor, Travis. Get up."
The younger attempts to bring himself to a standing position, gripping the surface of the desk with all of the strength he can muster.
Once he's -more or less- straightened out, with a head hanging low and his back hunched with affliction, he tries looking to the face of his aggressor.
"I... I was praying and-"
"You were praying. But it seems that you weren't praying hard enough."
A seemingly emotionless leer is returned to the blondes eyes.
Travis swallows thickly.
'What did I do wrong? And what will he do next?'
He can only stand there before the preist, waiting to either be delivered mercy or cruelty.
Of course, the latter is always the outcome.
So he braces himself as another barrage of strikes are thrown at him.
Some with an open hand, leaving a red mark at every beat. Others with a closed fist, ones he knows will leave nasty bruising.
After what felt like forever, the abuse lets up. And Travis finds himself back on the floor, knees up to his chest and arms wrapped around his head.
His breath is coming in quick and shallow gasps, his eyes are red and puffy, and he looks thoroughly exhausted.
At some point, his Father left the room to do whatever it is he does. Read his bible. Pray. You'd think he would go to bed considering the hour it is. But you never know with him.
Travis doesn't even know why his Father came into his room.
Oh, the overhead light. It stayed on when he fell asleep. Yeah that'll give him an ass-whopping for sure.
Travis' body wracks with sobs. Everything hurts. His face, arms, legs, chest, head and stomach.
Nothing is right. Nothing is right with him. Theres is nothing he can do to make his father look at him with anything other than disgust.
He is tired. Sickeningly so. And he can't even do so much as sleep through the night without being kicked for it.
With the last of his energy, Travis brings himself to his window, quietly unlocking it and sliding it open.
He gazes at the drop from his second story bedroom, and for a few minutes he wonders what it would be like to freefall to the ground.
It isn't nearly high enough to be fatal though. So instead he grabs a rope with knots going all the way down its length for better grip.
He has done this before. And will most likely do it again. So he keeps it behind his headboard, hidden away.
Carefully, he drops the line and ties it tighly around a bed post, then, inches out of the window and scales himself down the side of his house.
The night air is a stark chill compared to his stuffy room, and it raises goosebumps all over his body which, in turn, irritate the fresh injuries littering his form.
He mutters curses to himself and his Father as his feet plant on the ground unevenly, almost knocking him over.
He cant find it in him to care that the window is left open or that the rope is still an obvious escape route to his Father.
He just doesn't fucking care right now.
Maybe he might later, but this is now.
And right now he pulls a small peice of paper that resembles a mini envelope, out of his pocket.
He holds it in his palm as he walks down the street, just staring at the small object.
Every step feels like another punch to every battered limb. His face stuck in a constant scowl.
To anyone walking by, he would certainly be viewed as some troubled kid who brings disturbance.
But there isn't anybody on the streets at almost three in the morning.
Nobody to tell him he's doing 'this' wrong, or 'making the wrong choice'.
Not a soul to stop him from unfolding the tiny envelope to reveal a gleaming double-edged razorblade.
He holds the thin peice of metal between his thumb and index finger, just staring. Admiring? Observing.
Every streelight he passes is another reason why. Each turn down a new road is a message being sent to the world:
'I won't be your puppet, I will make decisions of my own.'
If Travis was asked how he felt at that moment, he would say he thinks he's been possessed by a demon.
So, the demon-possesed boy finally reaches a park, where he finds himself a place to sit under a pavillion with no lights.
The only source of illumination being the distant streetlamps and the moonlight.
He wastes no time rolling up his left sleeve and finding his desired spot to inflict even more pain on himself.
Travis feels stupid and even selfish for it.
But at the same time he feels as though he deserves to go through with it.
His reasoning being: 'If I can't have control over anything else, at least I have...'
The blade touches his skin. Cold. The blade as well as his outer layer of flesh.
He presses. Hard. And drags it ever so slowly.
It h u r t s.
Bad.
But he can't make himself stop.
The adrenaline starts to pump again, and he ends the first laceration with a disgruntled groan.
He can't see the wound very well, but maybe thats for the better. He feels it with a fingertip and estimates it to be about 3/4ths of a centimeter in width.
The blood drips down his arm and begins to pool on the concrete beneath him.
He puts the sharp back onto his skin, an inch or two away from the last, and begins again.
+++++++
July 25th 6:45am
"Shiiiit..."
Travis wakes up for the second time that day in pain. He's doubtful it will ever end.
Shifting to a sitting position, he tries to gain his composure.
He rubs his forehead harshly.
He doesn't feel like climbing back up the rope he left for himself at his window. The one he doesn't even know is still there.
So he decides to place his luck in the locker room being empty this morning. He needs to at least wash this blood off.
He just hopes people wont point out his obviously scuffed appearance.
His greasy hair, a dirt-stained violet sweater from the night outside, and he can imagine he has bruises all over him.
The day is daunting, but where else is he to go besides school?
Home, maybe. But that sounds way worse than a few hours in a place where he is the feared one for a change.
And with that, Travis slowly, but surely walks himself to Nockfell high. Lucky, he thinks, that it's less than a mile away.
He arrived at the building in 15 minutes.
Speeding up his pace, he took a sidewalk leading to the back of the school, tried the door, and waltzed in.
"Yes." Travis whispers to himself.
He knew nobody would be back here yet; this is somewhat of a routine for him.
On the days he roused in places besides his bed, this is where he would get himself ready for the day.
He took a few lefts and rights until he was in front of the boys locker room.
Quietly, he listened for any signs of life from the inside of the room. It would be easy to tell from the way the entire place echos.
When he heard nothing but his own wheezing, he gently opened the door and slipped inside.
Straight to his locker he went.
It was typical that he kept an extra set of clothes in his locker, for such moments like these.
But he hadn't changed the clothes out from the last time he did this. And the clothes that did reside in his locker were far worse in condition than the ones he's had on since yesterday.
What he did have clean stock of, were bandages. All different sizes.
It was something.
He took the old shirt to dry off with and made his way to the showers.
Trav chose the one furthest from the entrance, just in case, and moved into the shower.
The water was a warm contrast to how he felt. It was soothing when he wasn't thinking about the searing sting of his fresh cuts under the stream.
Afterwards, he got back into his purple crewneck sweater and blue jorts.
Stepping up to the mirror, a bundle of band-aids in hand, he scrutinized his face and arms for the more severe of the wounds.
Unwrapping a bigger one, he sticks it to the side of his face, over the biggest batch of bruises. Gross.
That's all he can think.
The bulging of his eye, revolting.
The dead, yellow strands of hay coming out of his head -courtesy of him using the cheapest box bleach he could get his hands on- , horrific.
Really nothing about him is nice.
'So why the actual fuck.
Would Sal Fisher want to befriend me.'
Sal...
《 BIIIIING 》
"Oh, right." Travis is brought back to reality by the bell.
But the thoughts dont leave his mind, no.
They stay seated in every row of the theater.
Watching as they tear this poor boy's sense of self apart.
+++++++
July 25th 9:57
Sal walks to his 3rd period of the day, already silently anticipating the bell that marks the end of class.
But instead of him just wanting to go to lunch, he has another reason.
When he enters the classroom though, he doesn't see Travis.
His heart did drop a little, but he had the utmost hope that he would show up.
After hearing a few more kids talking smack about the way Travis looked today, he's almost certain he'll be there.
And sure enough, even if he was a little late, Travis plods through the doorway.
Half a dozen eyes on him in an instant, including Sal's.
And shit. He looked... like shit.
Not just like he hadn't slept (which he barely had), but like... he shouldn't be walking around.
Sal didn't mean to stare, honestly.
He would know how it feels to be watched like a specimen.
Nothing could make his eyes part from the boy who made his own way to his desk.
Sal was tempted to grab Travis' arm to help guide him or something.
But he did his best to stay put.
All he could think of for the rest of his classtime was what he could say to make Travis more comfortable with him.
Seeing someone like Trav being so wrung out was appalling. It made him seem so meek compared to his usual tough demeanor.
Sal didn't expect to find out what happened in detail--not today at least-- but he did want to be the one he could confide in.
So he sat quietly, focusing as much as he could bring himself to on his assignments, until the end of class. Then he made his move.
"Hey, Travis!" Sal called out in a friendly tone.
Expectedly, the greeting was met with a glower from the blonde. But, unexpectedly, it was quickly replaced with a angerless scan of Sal's figure.
'Maybe he's too tired to give me shit today. Should I appreciate that or be worried?'
"Sally Face." Travis said rather zombie-like. Lacking the malice it usually held.
Sal could see the bruises on his face clearly now. Despite the huge band-aid covering the larger portion. It made his stomach sink for some reason.
It must have been obvious, the way Sal studied the other's face. As if looking for the answer in itself.
Travis sighs and turns to put his papers in a folder. Not a backpack?
"Hey, where's your-" but Sal gets cut off when Travis snaps back:
"Damn it, Sally face, would you fuck off??"
"Hey, Trav you don't have to get angry with me. I am the last person who's going to judge you!" Sal tries to reason with the growing frustration plastered on the older boy's face.
"Just shut up. As if you would know what its like. You don't know me. So let's keep it that way." Travis isn't yelling or spitting in Sal's face, so of course, it's taken as a sign to keep trying.
"Yeah, I really dont know. You're right, I cant argue with that."
An eyeroll. But Sal keeps going.
"It doesn't mean that I can't think about what the hell is going on with you. I mean, dude, I don't want to seem rude but you look a damn mess. It's starting to fuck with me."
"And who's problem is that? That its "fucking with you"? Hm? I dont remember telling you I gave a shit."
Defenses are up and Sal is finding it difficult to climb them.
"Dude, just... Just come eat some lunch. Please." Sal decides is his last try for the time being.
And he can't tell if he imagined it or if he had seen the corner of Travis' mouth curl up in the slightest. Only for half a second.
Sal continues during Travis' silence.
"You don't have to eat much if you don't want, but I think anyone could tell you look emaciated, man. I... I don't want to beg you. And I don't need you to necessarily believe that I care but I do. And... I really am sorry things turned out the way they did between us."
...
There is only the sound of the two as they breathe, as well as the talking and footsteps of highschool kids going to their next destination.
With Travis still hushed, Sal almost bends down to check if he's even awake. Then he hears a small...
"Why..."
"Why am I sorry? Or..."
"Sal."
That startles him a little bit. The resignation the 'why' to the seriousness of his name. All out of the mouth of that boy.
"Sal, I... I'm not..."
This is definitely not what he expected.
It was not expected for Travis to start crying during this confrontation. Sal about pissed his pants.
"Woah, Trav, it's okay. Hey, let's go somewhere else. Okay?" Sal offers as he extends his hand towards the door, suggesting they find a more private part of campus.
The older of the two hesitates as he processes what he's about to do.
He's going to follow Sal out the door, to wherever he has in mind, as means to comfort himself.
He can feel his body heat up at the thought.
What would his Father think? God?
Tempted to push Sal away, he got up.
Holding onto his desk for balance, not a single calorie in his system to keep him from crashing.
He only stood there though.
And when Sal turned to guide Travis out of the room, he followed.
Notes:
woahhh okay so that was crazy but idk if i like this??
did you expect anything? am i predictable? i suck at writing multiple chapters but i couldnt very well leave this be.
i hope you enjoyed/enjoy!
<33
Chapter 3: Ephesians 4:25 Part 1 of 2
Summary:
Ephesians 4:25
Therefore each of you must put off falsehood and speak truthfully to your neighbor, for we are all members of one body.
Notes:
terribly sorry to all my fellow salvis followers, life is fucking exhausting and i can barely find motivation to do the things i enjoy the most.
i haven't abandoned this fic but expect slower updates, as i just started a new job that i am getting used to. also, my mom just had my baby brother! how cool
its making me want to write brotherly larry and sal fics, so if that peaks your instrest lmk!
okay enjoooiiiii this short ass chapter (sorry)
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Sal leads Travis to an old stairwell, mostly unused, save for when Sal wants to skip class on particularly difficult days.
But today it isn't for him.
Sal looks back at the boy following him, a resigned, solemn look evident on his face. Travis has his eyes pointed to the ground with his fists clenched, gripping the single folder he had probably borrowed from a teacher for the day.
They walk through the door that brings them to some concrete stairs. Sal drops his bag a few feet away from where he sits down on the top step, then pats the spot next to him.
"So, do you want to tell me why you don't have your backpack?" Sal tries first.
His voice has the lilt it always does, but its lessened. Travis notices it, and despite his own situation, feels a twinge of guilt for making this guy put up with him.
Though, he guesses, Sal practically begged him to open up. And he couldn't keep his damn emotions in check.
Why is Travis here again?
The blonde doesn't sit down. Instead he parries the blue boy's question with:
"I guess... it's not something I can answer easily." Yikes... he sounds like a depressed loser. Kind of seems like that though.
It seems Sal doesn't seem to care about that, and instead he leans back on his hands.
"That's okay. If you want, we can stay as long as you'd like. I'm in no mood for Ms. Givins' boring biology lesson. I'll just have Todd catch me up."
Shit. It looking more and more like Travis is going to spill out all his guts on the cold concrete stairs.
Travis does end up sitting down. Two or three feet from the other. He brings a dirty sleeve up to wipe the wetness from his eyes.
Sal notices this too. Eyeing the stains on his sweater and shorts. Trav feels like his own mask is cracking at the edges, and Sal Fisher is taking a hammer to it.
They sit in silence for a few minutes. Not necessarily an awkward silence, but not with the comfort of a long time friend. Just... silence.
And that's more than Travis could ask for right now. Something he hasn't gotten enough of.
Even when there is nothing but him and his thoughts at 2 in the morning, 'silence' isn't something his brain allows him.
Sal doesn't push with questions and instead turns around to grab his backpack. He unzips the small pocket in front, pulling out a small bag of trail mix.
"You might not be... hungry." Sal begins carefully so that he doesn't tigger a suprise gag reflex again.
"...but just in case, I packed something small. For you." He says, holding the ziploc bag out for the other.
Travis is dumbfounded.
'What the hell does he mean "packed" some food for me?'
Sal sees the confusion on Travis' face, staring at him like he spoke a nonexistent language.
He just smiles in return, offering the baggie of nuts, raisins and M&M's out further.
Travis sighs defeatedly, but finds that he isn't nauseous at the thought of eating at the moment. So, reluctantly, he takes hold of the offering.
Both their fingers brush together during the exchange, sending a shooting bolt of fire through Travis' nervous system. He immediately pulls back.
It might be the worst feeling in the world. Worse than any insult or remark. Any smack to the face or boot to the shin.
But a part of Travis, the part he deems to be ugly and sinful, screams at him that it's only because he can't express that feeling.
Sal doesn't even flinch. How could he not have any reaction, when that was the first physical interaction they've ever had that wasn't a fight?
He just continues on speaking like it was nothing.
Something inside Travis blooms like a sprout in a wildfire. Something new inside the hellish landscape that is his life.
It scares him. But he pushes it aside. He will pray it away later.
"...and so I told Larry he shouldn't use the oven to store a salad, obviously. No shit, I found a rotting bowl of lettuce in MY oven a week later. AFTER I preheated it. The smell stuck til' the next week." Sal finishes off a story animatedly that happened to him. Seemingly trying to lighten the mood to get Travis to open up as well.
Travis simply watches as the bluenette speaks with his hands and eyes, while slowly picking around raisins that he would rather starve than consume.
He was a little more invested than he'd like to admit, and not just in the story. The way Sal's pigtails swung by his face when he turned his head. How his clothes wrinkled when he moved dramatically for emphasis.
'I could stay right here forever.' He thinks. Content. Safe. With him.
He shuts these thoughts down almost instantly though. Shifting his gaze to the steps going down.
Of course Sal picks up on the already-damp atmosphere getting a bit darker, and looks to Travis for something of an answer.
"Travis?"
But he doesn't move his head to look at Sal. He feels ashamed that he could let himself get even this far.
God is who he should be confiding in. Not the boy who reinforces these feelings of eternal dread.
"Can you tell me why you weren't at school last week?"
He didn't expect that question, though he isn't suprised to have been asked. Just like all the other things it seems no one else cares to point out, or even look at, Sal sees.
The sounds of their breathing communicate what isn't said.
Until Travis finally finds his voice.
"To answer your first question, about my bag, it's at my house of course."
Sal waits for him to continue, with his eyes focused and locked onto Trav's. It makes the latter start to sweat. But he goes on.
"I just wasn't able to... get it this morning."
Instantly he regrets having eaten anything, as he feels bile rise up his throat; nauseated at the memory of his window being wide open with that rope hanging right out, for the world to see.
He prays over and over in his head, for his Father not to go into his room and find it. He truly wishes he gave more thought to it before leaving it there.
"Riight.. and why couldn't you?" Sal asked lightly, concerned undertones subtle, but there.
He doesn't want it to, but the question makes Travis a bit irritated at the obviousness of it. He has to remind himself that this isn't Sal's reality, it's his.
"I... got into a fight with my dad. Decided to step out for the night. Blow off steam." His voice is quiet. Unconvincing, but his best shot at seeming like he has his shit together.
Sal just sits there, not moving, listening. Not a word Travis is saying sounds truthful, but Travis doesn't need to know that.
After it becomes obvious Travis isn't going to say anything more, Sal nods slowly, zoning in on a particular stair beneath them. It infuriates Travis, the way he just accepts the answer. Like Sal would know any better.
But, he doesn't. And Travis needs to realize that. It isn't anybody else but himself that's going through the things he goes through on a daily basis. It isn't normal.
He does realize it, he does. But nothing that comes to mind can quell the rising fire in his stomach.
Once again, as if psychic, Sal turns to Travis with a watchful eye, a silent reminder that everything Travis is trying so hard to hide is being spread like butter across the bread that is his face. He was never that great at hiding his emotions. His Father hated that.
Sal lets out a small sigh, barely audible. Then he starts again.
"You know... I mean- just so you know, I think if you really wanted to, we could be good friends. I don't think your a bad person Travis. And I don't believe you deserve to suffer-"
"No."
"...what? No to what? Being friend-"
"I'm not... suffering. Don't say that. I'm not..." Travis' voice starts to choke up again and he feels an all-too-familiar sense of urgency to run.
"And my face has never looked better, Jesus, Travis. It's not that hard to see. Don't get me wrong, I have no idea what happens when you aren't here and I want to respect whatever boundaries you may have set for yourself but... fuck I dont know dude. I'm sorry."
Sorry? Now what on God's green earth does Sal Fisher have to be sorry about. This kid.
The hurricane inside of Travis settles only slightly. The boy next to him isn't the type of person he's used to.
Kind. Genuine. Deserving of the same kindness and genuineness.
And it makes Travis feel like all the more shit. How could he have ever hurt him? More than that, how could he ever come to care for him in the same way he's currently receiving it?
And how could he be here right now? Relying on the very person he gave hell to.
Travis stands abruptly, making Sal flinch. Barely, but Travis saw.
It made his heart sink. Down down down.
Then down the stairs, he descended. Leaving his folder and half eaten bag of what are mostly just raisins now, behind.
Sal didn't move to catch him or follow him. He stayed sitting at the top of the stairs, watching with a hidden frown as Travis leaves him there.
But once Travis reached the bottom step he stopped. Sucked in a breath of what- Sal can't tell. Courage, anger, pain, he doesn't know. But hears a small voice behind the form of purple and yellow.
"... thank you."
And then he's off.
Sal will have to wait until their next encounter.
Notes:
writers block sucks unwashed ass, so sorry.
if there are any specific tropes that you want to read, you can drop them in the cmmts. may or may not get to it but getting ideas from other people always helps!
have a good scroll :P
Chapter 4: Ephesians 4:25 Part 2 of 2
Notes:
hiii guys dont get your hopes up yet, there js still much i need to do for this fic. but i wanted to feed you nonetheless!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The rest of the day is a blur. A combination of snide remarks both aimed at him, and having come from his own mouth. Pushing past slow-moving bodies, and weaving between bathrooms and classrooms. It feels like a routine at this point, dodging people and conversation. All the while picking on the vulnerable to make himself feel less vulnerable.
You could call it pathetic. Travis does.
He calls it all sorts of things. Stupid, conniving, deplorable, pitiful. All traits that present themselves in Travis' life one way or another.
If he had to pick one word to describe this day though, it might just be... 'different".
Never did he think he would buddy up with none other than Sal Fisher, even if it was only for a little bit.
Travis doesn't believe they could actually become friends though, their personalities contrast eachother way too much. Even if it was Sal's idea in the first place and even if Travis wanted nothing more.
They just didn't fit, and that gave power to the hungry, all-consuming pit in Travis' stomach. The eternal feeling of dread that, no matter what, he couldn't seem to quell.
It was loud, and nothing made it shut up.
But though it hurt and made him feel like he had no other choice but to sumbit himself to it's forces, the very same thoughts that fueled the fire, gave him comfort at the same time.
Travis was rightfully confused. With nobody to answer these questions, he felt lost in a forest. Except the forest was on fire, and he was paralyzed.
This is not the time to be thinking existentially, no. Class was over and he had to go home.
To face a force greater than anything his own mind could think up.
Not to say he stopped thinking about the consequences of last night and how he will have to pay for them this evening. But he did try his best to distract himself from the inevitable encounter.
He was scared. Scared and tired and in so much pain.
Once he left his last classroom, barren of any of his belongings, he first stopped at the boy's lockeroom to grab his old clothes. He would wash them and put clean ones in his locker.
He also had to stop at the drugstore for more bandages and antiseptic.
With a sigh he trudged out of the front doors of the building and walked down the pathway to the sidewalk.
He caught a glimpse of a blue head of hair and turned his head in it's direction. He saw Sal standing on the outskirts of the campus with his friends standing around him.
He was talking. Travis could tell by the way his head bobbed up and down while his hands seemed to tell a story of their own, the way they flailed around.
He slowed his pace to let himself indulge in the scene. Maybe he was a bit envious of the way Sal looked so comfortable around his people. The way they watched him speak with upturned lips, nodding along. When one started to speak, they all turned to them and gave full attention.
Travis didn't want to be sinful, of course not. But he couldn't deny the feelings stirring in his chest. He had already sinned beyond redemption, he's sure. With the years of tormenting other students, spitting hateful words at them like they were nothing but an outlet for his anger.
Would praying even help at this point?
So many questions ran rampant in his head, that he didn't notice himself stopping to stare.
His gaze must've been piercing, as the group simultaneously turned their heads in his direction. Ash gave a disgusted look. Larry deadpanned but it was obviously hateful. Todd and Neil looked between Travis, the group, and eachother with an arched eyebrow.
Travis quickly started walking again as if nothing happened, but his face burned with a light pink hue.
Sal was as expressionless as ever, thanks to his prosthetic. But Travis could imagine the look of loathing spread across a scarred face. It wouldn't suprised him, given everything Travis has done to him and his friends. He would hate himself too.
No. Sal doesn't hate him. He had made that very clear.
But Travis is finding it incredibly hard to believe he could just be forgiven because of something as simple as an apology or explanation.
Maybe that's where he runs into conflict with his religion too. How could God forgive someone like Travis? He couldn't.
Or maybe he could- ...fuck it I dont know.
Travis' face begins cooling as he reaches the drugstore. He hopes he can get what he needs with five bucks. Its not like he has an allowance to help him out.
He picks up random jobs around town for the neighborhood, mowing lawns, shoveling snow, washing cars. Anything to put a little cash in his pocket for things he knows his father wouldn't get him.
It pays off though, because he finds a cheap wound wash and a clearance variety box of band-aids both under his budget.
The store clerk says something to him but Travis' mind is too caught up in his upcoming situation.
Surely his father would have figured it out by now, if not from going to and coming from the house, and seeing the rope clearly hanging from the second story; but by the lack of Travis' presence in the morning.
Travis exits the little cornerstore and turns in the direction of his house, beginning the dreadful trek. But is taken aback when he spots the tall, lanky brunette walking towards him. He instantly freezes, attempting to decipher the boy's motives.
'He must be going to the store, same as me. We will pass eachother and that will be it.' Travis tries to reason. Until the one walking towards him stops a few feet away. Staring directly at Travis.
"Travis." Larry says as if a greeting, but they both know as a reluctant acknowledgment of his existence. Travis doesn't respond right away, and Larry takes the opportunity to speak.
With his hands in his pockets and a stoic expression, he continues. "So I've heard things. Specifically about you becoming friendly with Sal. So I wanted to talk to you."
Travis hesitated to reply, "becoming friendly with Sal" has been the best thing to happen in a long time. He knows this conversation will determine whether or not he will be viewed as anything other than the bully who hurt him. And he's aware of how difficult it is for him to have conversations that are genuine and not a series of insults.
So he thinks for a moment and eventually decides on: "I don't think there is a way around this conversation, but I want you to know that if you decide to talk to me right now you might not get the answers you're looking for." He pauses before he adds, "And I don't mean that as in I won't be honest. But I have shit to deal with that won't let me be clear with you. I'm... sorry."
Ending with an apology definitely wasn't his plan but it slipped out and there wasn't any taking it back, so-
"Well that's just fine. You don't have to say anything. I just wanted to make a few things clear." Larry's posture becomes tense with what Travis can tell is anger. He knows Larry won't attack him as long as Travis won't attack first, but this whole situation is making his insides shake.
"Sal is the most innocent person I know. He sees something in you that the rest of us don't. He swears by his own life that you aren't what you seem." That makes Travis flinch. "These past few days alone, you always seem to be a topic of conversation in some way, and I don't want to doubt my best friend. But if you end up hurting him..."
Larry doesn't have to finish that sentence. Travis doesn't fear Larry more than his own Father, but it does make something inside of him turn uncomfortably.
"You don't have to worry about that." Travis starts. "You may have had to in the past but... fuck. I just can't."
Larry raises an eyebrow, a silent way of telling him to "go on". But Travis remains quiet.
A sigh is heard from the brunette and his shoulders sag, releasing some of the tension, but not all of it of course. He is still standing in front of the biggest asshole at Nockfell High. But he just doesn't feel like the threat he usually is inside of the school. Maybe he is different. Changed. Larry can only study the body language of the blonde, for there are no other words to try understanding.
"Okay. Cool." And that was it. Larry began walking again, past Travis. Presumably to the store Travis had just left. The faint smell of weed wafting as their shoulders almost brush.
Travis is left somewhat dumbfounded. He had expected to at least be yelled at. Told to stay away from Sal if he knew what was good for him. And maybe thats what Larry truly wanted to say. But he didn't, because he has the control over his words that Travis craves so badly.
Then he realizes, though the interaction was awkward and felt unnatural, it didn't end with spewing hateful things that the other. He had a relatively 'normal' conversation. With Larry Johnson.
What did he even say to him? Nothing bad he guessed, considering the end of it was civil. He allowed a small sense of pride to wash over the knot in his stomach before continuing his walk towards his doom.
He wished Larry had stuck around longer, just to keep him distracted and away from his own house. Maybe that was selfish. But fear overtook any other present emotion as he approached the four walls he could call hell. His hell.
And when he looked towards his bedroom window, there was no rope and the window was shut. Travis had expected as such, but he felt like a cold bucket of water had been poured over him. Like a baptism. He needed one. He would probably get one. Another one.
He silently prayed though, that this time, his Father would hold him under until he had no choice but to breathe in the water. Let it cleanse his insides and send him to God.
Maybe that would save his soul.
Notes:
im suupr srry if this chapter sucks. i just really wanted to get this one published before i procrastinate like hell.
the conversation between trav and larry was very short but they will be having a longer one in the future. I want them to understand eachother correctly and not just through what sal tells them.THE CHAPTER ITSELF IS SHORT BUT THE NEXT ONE WILL HOPEFULLY MAKE UP FOR IT
i appreciate your patience and interest in this experimental fic 🙏
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