Gone OCs, AUs, Good/Bad Ideas and Headcannons

Drevin Pt. 7

He walked to his bedroom door across the living room, leaving Kevin by the entrance, still bawling.

"Stay the night if you want to."

He shut the door.

~One Month Before the Fayz~

Jackson Miller was a 14 year old boy, living a not-so-normal life in the town of Perdido Beach.

The reason his life was not normal was not because his mother was deceased or his only friends were Hot Boy Next Door and Rellin Taltman. It was because Jackson, though he knew it was impossible, could stop time.

He could stop time in a certain person, just splay out his fingers and expose his palm and have them freeze as if in a game of freeze tag, stopped in position, unmoving, not breathing, no heartbeat. Incredible.

He could stop time in general, or maybe it was just within a couple kilometers of where he was. He didn't know and he didn't care. He could be in the middle of study hall, pause time till he got all his work done, and resume time, spending the rest of study hall reading. A gift.

He could pause bullies when they caught him walking back to his dinky little house on south east Ocean Boulevard. He could draw swastikas on their faces with Sharpe and they wouldn't know till they came home and their mom yelled at them. He could kick them in the crotch 20 times and the walk the corner, peer out behind a building, unfreeze time, and watch them writhe in pain on the ground. He didn't bother hiding his smile.

When he first experienced the sensation of stopping time he thought his abusive father had slipped him some sort if hallucinogenic drug. But no, his father hadn't been home for days, out with some floozie in San Francisco, probably.

That option had been ruled out. The next would be that he was dreaming. But his dreams were not normal, no his dreams never involved him going to school, getting called a "fucking cow" 16 times by 16 different people, going home hoping his father was still away, and hopping up the stairs, almost falling on his ass, only to see himself pause mid-slip along with his cat.

No, his dreams were significantly stranger than this, a normal day with only one strange thing. Usually he dreamt of dragons and villains and falling from enormous heights only to sprout wings and fly. Almost drowning only to grow gills and a tail and swim away. Some sort of sick parody of his own life situation. No, his mind was not normal enough to produce such a normal scenario.

So what was this?

If there was one thing Jackson learned, it's that when something negative happens, you wait it out till it's over or you attack it with all the strength you have in your body.

This was a wait-it-out scenario.

If it was drugs, it would end soon enough.

If it was a dream, it would end even sooner.

And if it was something else, he would deal with that later.

~2 Weeks Before the Fayz~

Jackson looked in the mirror. It was week two of his powers and he had never felt better. Though his reality had been very altered, he refused to confront whatever was happening to him. Was he a mad man? Did he lose his mind and is now living in his own imagination? He didn't care. He was happy and safe and had power beyond imagination and that was all that mattered to him. Whenever his dad tried to beat him be would stop time and drag the bastard outside into the shed at lock the door. He would go up to his bedroom window and watch as the old man used shed tools to break the lock on the door, knowing he would inevitably have to fix it. Not to mention the confusion that followed. He would smirk and think smug thoughts, stop himself and remind him not to let his ego grow too big, and still grin at his small act of revenge. He knew his dad, his step-father, would blame the many drugs he was on.

Now, Jackson knew he was insanely clever. He could do so many more things with this, take over the government, lead armies into battle, kill anyone who called him "cow" again, but he did not. He didn't murder or steal, he simply used it to protect himself and nothing more.

Unless someone seriously crossed him. Then he would hurt them.

Jackson was looking in the mirror only to make sure he was still himself. This, these powers, wasn't an easy thing to process.

Jackson wasn't exactly a face you could lose in a crowd. He was Native American, (more on the dark side) and had vitiligo. Patches of white skin covered the top of his head, making his hair bleach blond. He had two patches of white on both his eyes and three big ones on his hands. An uncountable number of very small spots covered his chest and legs. It did not make his eyes blue, they were still the rich brown his mother's had been. He was not muscular, simply average for his age. But when it came to height he knew he was above average. He was 6 feet tall on the dot. Two inches shorter than his dad.

He did not have any siblings, just a cat who surprisingly was not beat by his dad. He was only home when his father wasn't around, which was often. On the rare occasion his father was home, the kid who lived next door (a very hot, tan, surfer boy) was pretty nice about letting Jackson crash at his place.

This was only because the boy felt bad for Jackson, and his mother wasn't home that often, so the few times Jackson saw his father, it was the boy next door who took him in. His mother worked the night shift at the academy up the hill, so both could relate to never having adults around, unlike most kids in Perdido Beach.

His second friend was a girl, pansexual and very keen on letting people know her stout stature would not hold her back from beating someone's ass. She had skin significantly darker than Jackson's, almost fully black, her hair was seemingly naturally permed and down to her waist, short yet fierce. Her name was Rellin. Her and Jackson combined were an unstoppable force to be be reckoned with. With Jackson's perfect calculations and clever ways of revenge with much mercy to spare combined with her ruthless yet caring and gentle soul they could do anything.

Jackson knew Rellin could be a little insensitive, but Jackson was her impulse control and she was his only friend that could see past the vitiligo.

So it was Rellin, Hot Boy Next Door, and Jackson against the world.

He liked this life very much.