Work Text:
It's a terribly cold Tuesday in January when Frank for the umpteenth time goes to print an English test for the next day only to find that the printer at the teachers' lounge is once again out of order. Sighing deeply, he just clutches his USB flash drive tighter in his hand and turns on his heels, going off to find another printer to use or a janitor to tell about the faulty printer, but it's so late in the afternoon that there's hardly anyone left in the school. He passes by the library, thinking he might use their printer, but only finds a note saying they had closed early today, so he continues down the corridor to the Art classroom, which had its own set of computers and a printer. It's supposed to be for the Art students only, but if he can't find any other working printers, he doesn't really have a choice, does he? And he only really uses it for emergencies. Collins, the Art teacher, has never complained either, so Frank figures it's okay.
"Hey Collins, can I use your printer? The one by the teachers' lounge is busted again-" The door is unlocked so he walks straight inside, doesn't bother to knock since school is out anyway and, at first, he doesn't see anyone there. When he does, he shuts up immediately and almost drops the USB flash drive in his hand in shock.
There's a kid in there, a student, but Frank doesn't know his name or what year he's in because he's not in any of Frank's classes, and the kid is half naked. He's in a corner, shirt and hoodie draped over the back of a chair and book bag dropped to the floor next to it, hands busy undoing his belt. The kid is staring at him and Frank stares back for a long moment, practically frozen in time, before finally turning to look at Collins. He is standing in the middle of the classroom, a bunch of large sheets of paper spread out over the table in front of him, as well as a folder labeled "Gerard" that matches the size of the sheets.
"What the fuck is going on in here?" Frank finally exclaims, and he sees the kid flinch through the corner of his eye. He doesn't care that he just swore in front of a student, he can't even remember what he's doing in the Art room; he's just so shocked, so disgusted, so terrified at having walked in on something like this.
"Put your fucking clothes on," he snaps at the kid, and turns to Collins again. He looks disturbingly calm, and Frank shudders. "What is that, let me see." He gestures at the sheets of papers that he now realizes are drawings. He reaches for them and, when he finally gets a good look at them, he thinks he's going to be sick. He gathers them up in the folder and holds it tight in his hand and turns to the kid again. He's fully dressed now and his long black hair is falling in his face, which is pale, pale white.
"You're Gerard, right?" The kid nods. "What's your last name? What year are you in?"
"Way. I'm a junior." Frank nods and looks around again, feeling sick when his eyes land on Collins, who still hasn't said a word.
"Come on," Frank says to both of them.
"Where are we going?" Gerard asks, clutching his book bag to his chest, looking from Frank to Collins and back again.
"To the Principal's office," Frank says, trying to stay calm and be nice to the kid. The kid hasn't done anything wrong, he tells himself. It's Collins; he's the creep, the asshole, the man Frank had thought was a good guy and who had shown him pictures of his two kids over lunch several times last semester. "It's okay, Gerard. You're not in trouble."
"Then can I go home?" Gerard asks, and Frank sighs, reaching out to pat his shoulder.
"Not yet." When they reach the Principal's office, Frank is more than relieved to find the school secretary still at her desk, working. "Vicky, is the Principal available?"
"Yes," she replies with a blazing smile, but it quickly falters as she looks them over, finally settling on Gerard who is paler than a ghost. "Is there anything wrong, Mr. Iero? Mr. Collins?"
