Pulling Down Heaven

So much angst you would not believe

Proctor stormed out of the room and began searching for Hale. He couldn't believe that Danforth cared so little about his students. I mean, the guy was an annoying prick at the best of times, but this was beyond that. It was blatant disregard for the someone's wellbeing. He shook his head and breathed out slowly- he'd be no help to Hale if he was angry.

He eventually found Hale after pushing open the door to the boys toilets and calling his name cautiously.

"Hale?... John?" He heard sniffing from one of the bathroom stalls and let the door swing shut behind him. After a few steps further into the bathroom he called out again, "Hale?"

"What?" Came the quiet reply- from the third stall, Proctor noted it silently and move towards it.

"You ok?"

"I'm fine,"

"You wanna talk?" There was the small click of the lock turning and then the cubicle door swung open with a groaning creak. Hale trudged out, wiping his red eyes with the sleeve of his jumper. He looked up at Proctor and managed a weak smile collapsing into tears again. Instinctively Proctor rushed forward and drew Hale- who was quite a bit shorter- into a tight embrace. Hale sobbed quietly into Proctor's chest for a few minutes and Proctor tried to stand as still as possible, unsure as to why he was so upset. However, Hale soon pulled away to grab a tissue and blow his nose.

"Are you feeling a bit better now? You were shaking like you were possessed or something,"

"Did I cause a fuss? I really didn't mean to disturb anyone, it just all... got too much I guess," Hale pulled at the cuff of his jumper, his shoulders curled inwards defensively. His sing-song accent made him sound increasingly unsure, and despite the fact that he had just been sobbing on Proctor's shoulder, Proctor had never seen him look this fragile before: like he could shatter any second. Or like he'd already been shattered.

"It's fine- Danforth's an idiot anyway, and besides, who cares about them? They don't deserve your worry," Hale dropped the tissue in the bin and walked back towards Proctor.

"Can I-?" He stretched out his arms to indicate a hug.

"Of course," Proctor replied quickly, grateful that he could help non-verbally before he started stammering awkwardly- he couldn't seem to figure out what to say. After a short while he drew back, "Do you want to talk somewhere that smells more pleasant?" Hale laughed quietly and nodded his assent. They walked along the hallway, Hale following half a pace behind, and then slid into an empty side room of the main hall which had some boxes and books stacked in it, but no chairs. Proctor shut the door and sat with his back leaning against it, so no one could come in and take them by surprise. Hale sat next to him and hugged his knees to his chest.

They remained in comfortable silence, each wondering if the other would speak, until Hale cleared his throat, "I'm sorry about- about all of this. I have, um," he paused and closed his eyes for a second, gathering his courage, "I have anxiety." The statement hung in the air, weighed down with its sincerity.

"Ok,"

"Ok?"

"I mean, uh..."

"Don't worry- most people don't know how to react. I just, sometimes, panic. And it's horrible, and I can't breathe, and it, you know, it sucks. I hate it. I hate being out of control of my own emotions, I hate constantly over-thinking everything and I hate that I can't even get through a test like a normal person." The sentences merged into one until his speech became a mess of raw emotions which felt jagged as they escaped his throat. Hale squeezed his knees a little tighter to himself and wondered what had made him think it was a good idea to pour out all of his pent up emotion to some one he barely knew.

"Things aren't exactly all sunshine and rainbows at the Proctor house either," Hale was surprised and turned his head to listen more clearly to the reply. "My mom died about 7 years ago now, and about 6 months after that we emigrated from- well, you can probably guess where. Since then its just been me and my dad. He's tried so hard to move on after mom, well- left us- but now it's like he can't even acknowledge she existed. I don't want to forget my mom. I really don't."

"Guess we've both got problems to worry about then," Hale shivered and pulled his arms closer to his torso.

"Doesn't every teenager?" Chuckled Proctor, "Are you cold?"

"Maybe a little," Hale admitted with a shrug. Proctor thought for a second, then pulled off his beanie again and handed it over, "Here," he pressed it into Hale's hand, "wear this."

"Are you sure?" Hale accepted the gift tentatively, as though it might be taken away from him at any second.

"Definitely," Proctor stood up slowly and stretched his legs before offering his hand to help Hale up, "Now how about we finish that test?" Hale accepted the hand gratefully to pull himself up after putting on the beanie; and if they only let go of each other's hands when they reached the door to the main hall, well, no one else had to know.