Don't Stand By Me (COMPLETE)

INTERLUDE THREE

A few years ago...

"C'mon dude! Talk to me!" Brent called through the closed door, rapping it with his knuckles gently.

"No!" Isaac's voice petulantly called back, "Leave me alone!"

"I just want to help!"

"Well, you can't! So leave!"

"C'mon, bro-"

"I'm not your bro! I barely know you! Fuck. off."

Brent stood back from the door, ignoring the weight in his chest at Isaac's words. It was true after all, he'd only been adopted a few months prior - it's not like he was his brother, as much as he wanted to be. As much as he felt like he already was. The feeling clearly wasn't mutual.

Brent retreated to his own room, sitting in his desk chair and staring blankly at the desktop in front of him. He glanced around the room at all the things that were his. They didn't feel like his. They felt like rentals, things he was allowed to use and borrow until they got sick of him and sent it back. It had happened more times than he could count. He knew he was being distant with this family, but he had done this whole spiel many times. They acted doting and loving, like they truly cared. But it never lasted. One drink in them and Brent would see the truth, who they really were.

The next day in school, Isaac acted like Brent didn't exist, slinking off by himself to the point where he couldn't track him down. He tried to ignore how much it hurt; he'd been rejected countless times before, but somehow this time felt different.

He had gotten the cast off his arm the week before and he finally felt ready to join the football team, something he had longed to do for years. It seemed as good a time as any, he figured, as he walked towards the locker rooms. He remembered seeing a signup sheet in there after gym class one day. As he approached, he could hear voices from inside, growing louder and sharper.

"Just leave me alone!" A strangely familiar voice called out.

"We just want to talk to you...that's all." A voice jeered, backed up by several mocking laughs.

Brent moved slowly into the room, keeping his back to the wall as he observed the scene. Isaac was held by the front of his shirt against one of the lockers, feet dangling uselessly as he squirmed and tried to break free. Other than the guy holding him up, two others surrounded them, mocking and prodding at him. Brent felt rage well up within him, but he hung back for a moment, biding his time.

"We don't take well to people hanging out where they don't belong..." Douche one snarled, "This is my locker room. You don't belong here. Maybe you should go with the g-"

"Miss Resnick's coming!" Brent exclaimed, smacking one of the lockers, "She's mad."

"I can't get another write up!" Douche two squealed, grabbing Douche three's shoulder, "C'mon!"

The pair bolted from the room while Douche One stood steadfast, turning his head to raise an eyebrow at Brent.

"Nice try. You can either join me in feeding him my socks or you can squish into the locker with him."

Isaac's eyes were wide and pleading, "Please just go, Brent. Don't make this worse for me."

"Brent, is it? I've just been calling you Loser." Douche One snarked, "Didn't realise you two were friends."

Brent stepped forward, fists clenched at his side, "You have one chance to walk away."

"Oh, I'm terrified. What are you going to do, Beanpole? Lecture me to death?"

Brent shrugged, "Alright, I gave you a chance."

He swung his fist out before he had finished his sentence, sending Douche One spiralling backwards into one of the lockers, losing his grip on Isaac's collar, who collapsed to the ground and scooted backwards, watching the scene with wide eyes. Brent rounded on Douche One, sending another fist into his nose and resisting the urge to smirk as he howled. If there was one thing the group homes taught him, it was how to hold his own against a jackass.

"Why are you doing this?" Douche One wheezed as he tried to cover his face, now curled up on the ground.

"You don't fuck with him." Brent seethed, sending a kick right to his ribs, "That's my brother. He's off limits. Are we clear?"

He jammed his foot into the side of Douche One's head.

"I said are we clear?"

"Brent, stop! You'll kill him!"

Brent frowned, stepping back and looking at the boy cowering in front of him, covered in his own blood. Brent's white converse were stained maroon. What the fuck had he just done?

"I...I'm sorry. I didn't..."

He turned on his heel and ran from the locker room, ignoring Isaac's calls after him. He ran out the doors and away from the school not slowing down as the police sirens sounded.