How to Throw a Punch

Who: Hunt and Tad
Where: The high school parking lot
When: mid-morning

This wasn't like Tad, forgetting books and then sneaking out in the morning to break back into the high school to retrieve his history text that he'd need to work on his project with Dean. But then again, having friends and confessing to a girl how he felt about her wasn't much like him either. He realized with an internal chuckle that it had been a while since he'd acting much like old Tad in a while.

He'd managed to pop the lock on the door near the gym just like Kaysen had at the middle school without much work and he'd gotten in and almost all of the way out without any trouble or other human being around to cause an issue. Until now.

"Hey faggot what do you think you're doing?" The slurs never meant good news. Looking up he spotted jocks from the junior varsity hockey team behind their captain. Tad barely got a snarky comment in before the fists started flying.

Hunt heard the undeniable sounds of a fight - you couldn't mistake that, not really. He almost didn't go over - broad daylight, at a school - probably wasn't his thing, after all. But he headed over anyhow, staying back, an observer more than anything else. Or, at least, that had been the plan. But then it became obvious that not only was the target losing, but he was losing badly. And not just because he was outnumbered, but because, damn but a guy should really be able to defend himself better than that! Rolling his eyes, Hunt waded into the fight, not pausing as he pulled the jocks off their victim and sent them packing, sure that he gave a couple of them bruises that they'd have for a few days yet.

Tad was bleeding. There was blood coming from his nose and what felt like a cut along his eyebrow. Gently he pressed at his nose to ensure it wasn't broken, which it didn't seem to be, just bloody. There were tears in his eyes, but he couldn't tell if he'd been crying or his eyes were just watering. His books were scattered in the puddles of slush in the parking lot and probably ruined at best. Up until this point he hadn't bothered to look up from his position on his knees in the parking lot to see who'd saved him, but he could tell from the shoes it wasn't Kaysen. "Thanks," he mumbled at the ground, wiping his nose on his sleeve.

"Get up," Hunt told him, making no move to help the boy. "Why'd you let them do that anyhow. Why didn't you fight back? Break a few noses?" he asked, viewing the boy with an air bordering on contempt. Sure, there'd been lots of them, but they were only human.

Reluctantly he drug himself to his feet, relieved that his ribs seemed to be spared this time and they'd focused on his face more than anything else. He might look like hell the next day at school, but at least it didn't hurt to breath. Finally looking his savior in the eye, Tad stepped back a half step in surprise. The last person he'd expected to be standing in front of him, especially with such a tone was Mr. Hunt from school. It just didn't seem to fit. "I just don't." Tad's tone surprised him with how even it sounded. It was nothing like he felt.

"You just don't?" Hunt deadpanned, repeating the boy's words back to him with a faint air of disbelief. "Maybe you should just go home if you can't find a backbone enough to stand up to some of your peers. Why did they start on you anyhow?" he asked, knowing that he wouldn't be surprised if there just wasn't a reason.

"Do they need a reason?" Tad started, his voice beginning to waver slightly. Something seemed off about the teacher. He'd never been in his class, but the man had a reputation for being a great guy, always there to help, never raised his voice at his students no matter how stupid they acted. "Maybe I'm just a pacifist." As Tad grew more uncomfortable his sarcastic attitude fell into place like a shield.

"Maybe you're a moron - has nobody ever shown you how to throw a damn punch?" Hunt asked him, rolling his eyes at the suggestion that he was a pacifist. Hunt had no time for pacifists - so high and mighty with their fucking morals and all it meant was that somebody or other was arrogant enough to decide they were going to sit back and not defend themselves against anything, which mean that either (a) they were going to get dead really fucking quickly, or (b) someone else was going to have to risk their own live to save their ass. No, Hunt had no time for pacifism.

The moron comment caught Tad off guard. Seriously he'd thought this guy was a nice guy, not a complete dick. The snotty remark was on his tongue when the answer to Hunt's question registered in his brain. No one. Beside the people who threw punches at him, it's not like anyone had ever taught him how to fight back. "Actually no, no one has."

"How often do you get beat up?" Hunt asked him. he figured this wasn't a one-off. That seemed obvious from the way the boy's voice gave out slightly, from the way he'd asked if they needed a reason. The boy screamed 'victim' - which meant that if Hunt walked away right now, then nothing was going to change. It'd just be same story, different day.

"Usually just often enough for the bruises to heal in between," Tad told him. There was a hint of shame in his voice, but only a slight one. It wasn't much, but Tad didn't blame himself for getting the crap kicked out of him. He never provoked the assholes to start beating on him, even if he did smart off to him after the fact.

"Hit me," Hunt told him, squaring off, though he didn't actually raise his own fists. He wanted to know what the kid could do - if he could do anything at all, that was. He wondered if the boy would even be able to hit hard enough to just bruise his own muscles - there wasn't a whole lot of give in Hunt's physique, after all.

"What?" Instinctively Tad took a step back. "Are you nuts? No." He wasn't about to hit a teacher from his school in the parking lot. With his luck it would be that moment the cop car drove by and he'd be arrested. "You're a teacher. I'm not gonna hit you."

Hunt blinked and it was his turn to look surprised. He was a... teacher? Since when was he a damn teacher? Hunt didn't realise that he had been - the breaking of the spell had fractured his mind, and there were huge gaps in his memory. he didn't realise that the large gaps were filled with an alternate personality, and that that personality had, until a few months ago, been a history teacher at Marquette Senior High. He didn't realise that that personality had quit because he couldn't keep up with the work. "Hit me," he repeated, giving him time to try and figure out what the hell the kid was talking about.

When Hunt looked surprised, Tad remembered that he'd quit teaching recently. Since Tad hadn't been one of his students, the information hadn't meant much to him at the time, but now standing across from the man who kept demanding he hit him, Tad was beginning to think he'd left cause he was cracked. "Dude, seriously. No fucking way." It probably wasn't right to curse in front of the adult, but man, this was getting weird. And if Mr. Hunt had gone nuts, then the last thing Tad should do is hit the guy.

Hunt laughed a little, though there wasn't much humour in it. "You really don't know how to defend yourself, do you?" he said, shaking his head. When the boy wouldn't even hit a guy who wasn't going to retaliate. "You know, you really should rethink that - or one day you'll end up with more than just bruises."

"And how am I supposed to know you won't hit me back? You're no Mr. Miyagi." Tad was wary about swinging at the guy, and certain he probably punched like a girl. But in a sense the man was right. In the past Tad had been beaten up pretty bad and there were no guarantees that graduation would mean safety.

"Because I prefer to pick on things my own size. Or bigger. I won't hit back, I just want to see what you got. Now you gonna hit me, or do I have to deliver you home to your parents and say that you ran into trouble breaking into a school at the weekend?" Hunt asked, pulling out the lamest yet most normal threat he'd used in a long time. Lame in his world, anyhow. But, to a kid, maybe it'd pack more of a punch.

"Technically I was breaking into school in order to properly do my homework, so Grams might let me off the hook." Tad wasn't normally shooken up by not having parents, but after Hunt pointing out that no one had bothered to teach him to fight back and now this off hand comment, he was getting a little angry. It was a sort of anger he hadn't felt since just after they'd died, when as a kid he'd been angry that they'd not only abandoned him with his grandmother, but then up and died leaving him even more alone in the world. So he swung at Hunt. It wasn't a good punched aimed at the man's solar plexis, but it wasn't bad either.

Hunt could have dodged the punch, but he didn't, he let it come and took it, not even easing back as the blow hit. And it was a better blow than he'd actually expected, which was a pleasant surprise. "Not bad," he allowed, then taking a step back. "But you need to put your weight behind it more - punch with your body, not your fist." He took a few steps and repositioned Tad, taking him slowly through the movement. "And don't clench your fist like that - you want it more like this," he added, changing the way Tad's hand was clurled before stepping back in front of him. "Again," he said.

If someone had asked Tad last night what the weirdest thing that was going to happen to him in the next few months would be, he would have answered without a doubt that telling his new best friend he was head over heels for her and finding out she could manipulate fire (kinda). Now here he was getting a lesson in how to punch from a former nice guy who seemed to have cracked his lid and was now just a little off.

Not one to turn down the help though, because Kaysen had been right about him being a wuss, Tad nodded along with the lesson. When the time was right he swung again, this time with far better form. As always, he was quick learner.

Hunt felt the blow that time and actually smiled. "Better - much better," he told the boy. "What's your name, kid?" he asked him, willing to back down from totally writing the guy off.

"Tad," he answered with a pleased smile. His hand hurt a little from the punch because for some reason the mild mannered school teacher was a solid rock of a person. "I wasn't in one of your classes, in case you were wondering."

There was that teaching thing again. Hunt wondered if he just looked like someone else - it was possible, he allowed. One thing he knew, it was that he was no school teacher - the concept was laughable. Still, there were certain things he could teach, if someone was willing to learn. "Tad, right. I'm Hunt. Look kid - nobody should get beat up like that. There's no reason for it." he rooted around in his pocket until he found a pen and a scrap of paper and scrawled down his number before handing the paper over. "You ever decide you want to actually learn how to hand their asses to them instead of taking their blows? you give me a call, okay?" he suggested.

Tad took the paper with a raised eyebrow. There was definitely something up with the way the guy introduced himself. Hadn't Tad been pretty clear that he knew the guy? Maybe Hunt was just being polite and Tad missed some sort of social cue back there somewhere. It wouldn't be the first time. "Thanks," he told Hunt. Tad wasn't sure yet if he'd call, but he'd give it some thought.

Hunt nodded, then turned to leave. He wondered if the kid would call, but figured that only time would tell. If he didn't, well then his bruises wouldn't be on Hunt's conscience, would they?

"Hey!" Tad said before the man could walk away. "What happened to you? No one knew why you quit, and where you went." It was a bold statement but part of Tad really wanted to know.

Hunt looked back at him, still not entirely sure what the boy was talking about. "I had better things to do," he said. He figured that, no matter what the facts, that was the case. There were always better things to do. The hunt never ended.