Chapter Text
Wednesday.
Michael descended the stairs with quiet footsteps, pausing about two thirds the way down and pressing his ear to the wall. He heard muffled snoring and let out a sigh of relief. He rushed the rest of the way down, speed walking to the kitchen to grab a week-old banana and some stale bread. He pressed the mushy and rapidly browning fruit onto the bread, smearing it on like a paste, before shoving it into his mouth.
His sister, Judith, gagged from the doorway, giving him a hard stare. Michael shrugged and pushed past her into the hallway, making his way to the door and slinging his backpack onto his shoulder.
He resumed his speed walk as he made his daily three-block walk to school, cursing under his breath as he sees the familiar forms of his friendly neighborhood bullies on the horizon. Waiting for him at the double doors of the school, like always.
Their pimple-ridden faces turned to him, twisting into a trio of malicious grimaces as they yelled in his direction. “Oh would’ya look at that? The freak show is back in town!”
Michael attempted to walk past but was stopped by a hand on his chest. He sighed and held back an eye roll, turning to them expectantly.
“Woah woah! Watch the attitude Mikey, we’re just playing around.” One of he boys said, his face twisted in a grin revealing yellowed crooked teeth. “Say, gonna give me your sister’s number today? Wanna have my turn before the dumb bitch gets herself pregnant y’know?”
Michael roughly shoved the boy’s hand away, moving to roll up his sleeves for what will absolutely be another one of his famous 3 on 1 fights. He’s lost every time, but hey. 30th times the charm, right? If they’re gonna talk shit about his family every chance they get, he might as well get some good hits in. Momma Myers didn’t raise a quitter, after all.
“Ooh Mikey’s getting mad, huh?” One sneered.
The obnoxious little one piped up, a new face. “Probably hits like a girl anyways. Sure looks like one.” He chuckled, even as one of the older members cringed. Oh yes, he’s very familiar with Michael’s left hook. “Gonna be a stripper just like your momma mickey?”
Michael tilted his head at him, a smirk playing at his lips. “Sure. And I bet I can depend on you to be my first customer.”
As expected, his little comment riled him up good and the runt came rushing at him with a red face and a clumsy fist. He caught it easily, calming raising his own balled hand and bringing it down onto the bully’s cheek with bone-shattering force. And just like that, he was out like a light.
His friends jumped in quickly, double-teaming Michael with quick, punishing hits. Michael struggled to find the right moment between the painful blows to deal another hit to one of them, but his opening did come. The snaggle-toothed boy who stood at eye level with him paused and shook out his hand with a hiss of pain. In an instant Michael was shoving the other boy off and advancing towards him, winding back his arm in what would surely be another one-hit KO.
Michael’s face spread into a dimpled grin as he waited for the satisfying snap of his fist hitting the pimpled face, but to his immense disappointment it never came. Confused, he looked up to find that a large hand had caught his arm. Preparing himself for the stern face of a teacher, he was surprised to find that it was a fellow student. A rather recognisable one at that.
Jason Voorhees, the weird religious kid who wore a bag over his head. Well, kid isn’t entirely accurate. The guy was huge, towered at least a foot above Michael’s head. And Michael isn’t a short guy.
“Principal's office.” Came the muffled, gruff voice. When no response came and the bullies tried to sneak away, Jason stormed forward, dragging michael along. He grabbed them by the back of their shirts and roughly pushed them in the direction of the large double-doors of the school, where a disappointed teacher stood waiting to escort them.
“Thank you, Jason. Go ahead to class now I can handle the rest.”
Jason nodded and did as he was told.
She turned back towards the delinquent students and gestured towards the passed out kid on the floor. “Please grab your friend and follow me.”
------
The principal's office was not an unfamiliar sight for Michael. He’s probably been sent there at least twice a week for the past three years. It's the same story every time. Michael gets two hours in detention for starting a fight and not being in dress code, and his idiot classmates get a light slap on the wrist and a warning, because god forbid the members of Cunningham’s small untalented field hockey team miss practice.
It's not like he cared all that much about his afterschool time, being here was better than being at home anyways.
After getting his weekly berating and his detention ticket, he headed to his first class of the day thirty-one minutes late. With Fieldsboro’s town population being little more than five hundred people, there were only about twenty kids in each grade and gossip spread fast. You’d think talking about the same four kids getting into fights every week would get boring, but apparently not. He was greeted with hushed whispers and amused looks. Michael looked around the room, quickly finding the massive student in the front row who ratted him out. Jason glanced in his direction and scoffed at him for being tardy despite having been the cause of his tardiness. Pretentious bastard.
Michael made his way to his seat, unfortunately two rows directly behind the tallest and broadest student in class. He pulled out his notebook and glowered at the back of Jason’s head for a bit, thinking back on what he knew about the kid.
Jason was the typical church-loving backwoods momma’s boy for the most part. Built like a brick house with muscles that bulge through the loose cloth of his dress shirt like something out of Michael’s mom’s porn mags. Doesn’t sound much like a church boy to the rest of the world maybe, but he's cream of the crop here. Those bible thumpers always go on and on about jesus and loving their mommas, before heading straight for an after hours bar and getting themselves a quick ticket to the holding cell at the police office. Seems flexing their muscles and machismo was more important to these schmucks than “practicing what you preach”. Elias Voorhees was like that, Michael’s father was like that, virtually every man over twenty here was like that.
But Jason Voorhees? That boy wasn’t like them. Ripped and jesus-loving? Sure. Starting fights in bouts of insecurity and ignorance? Oh no, not Pamela’s sweet baby boy. Jason Voorhees was about one step away from being a pastor, always preaching about loving thy neighbor and turning your cheek to your enemy. Sure, he fought sometimes; the boy had the temper of his infamous deadbeat father. But his fights were often in defense of someone who was being picked on so it can be passed off as his brand of ‘righteous retribution’. Most of the time though, Jason was like a stuffy giant of a church boy, brown-nosing adults and micro-managing his fellow teens least they run off and get each other pregnant or drugged up.
Jason was a model student, a model christian, and a model son. Even now as michael watched him in class he was intensely focused on the teacher’s every word and taking down notes with the fervor of a man on death row writing his last goodbyes. Often he would pause and scratch out a word several times, shoulders stiffening in panic as the teacher moved on unaware of his struggles. Michael had to hold back a chuckle every time.
Okay, so maybe Jason Voorhees isn’t a bright kid. But he tries too damn hard to not be a good student, you gotta give him credit for that at least. Poor kid lugs every book he owns to class every day and takes his teachers’ lessons like the word of god.
His dedication would be an endearing personality trait if it didn't make him such a hard-ass about the rules.
------
When PE came around michael suddenly became very aware of the beating he got this morning. His forearms and chest still ached, but luckily upon lifting his shirt michael found only minimal bruising. A purple welt here and there, but nothing that would cause him any trouble. He grabbed his mandatory PE garb and dressed quickly, eyes seeking out Jason out of instinct. He bit back a grin at the way the large student struggled to maneuver his shirt over the bag on his head.
Michael doesn’t know why Jason even bothers changing out of his uniform when he never gets to play. Something about health issues and his mother throwing a fit. It’s a shame, he knows the coaches would eat Jason up. The boy is probably a powerhouse.
Once everyone was dressed and out on the field, the coach screeched something about getting into position for a good old fashioned field hockey game. Seniors at Cunningham High School were lucky enough to have gotten Coach Brahms, the coach of the field hockey team, as their PE teacher, so they never got to play anything other than field hockey.
Several disappointed sighs resound as the students moved around the field, and then the whistle is blown and chaos ensues. Several of Coach Brahms’ most enthusiastic and violent players quickly moved to shove at their teammates and swing their hockey sticks wildly for the ball. One of said students happened to be the snaggle-toothed kid Michael almost punched this morning and oh, was he out for blood. He didn’t even bother to pretend like Michael was after the ball, he just swatted it in his direction and went in for the tackle.
Michael hit the dirt hard, a large bruise already burning its way onto his chest where his classmate shouldered him full force. He must have flown at least a three feet backwards. Michael grunted as he was helped up and handed off to a pair of gentle hands. He turned to glare dazedly at the snaggle-toothed piece of shit before facing the owner of the steadying hands on his shoulders. Of course it's Jason Voorhees. Him and his stupid bag-head and his baby blue eye full of worry.
Somewhere far off Michael hears the coach screech and the sounds of field hockey start up once more, but right now he was focused on steadying himself enough to shove Jason away. As he was now he would absolutely fall flat on his ass if those hands weren’t holding him up.
“You alright?” Came the deep muffled voice that had no right sounding as caring as it did.
“M’fine.” Michael grunted, nudging Jason in the direction of the nurses office. “Let’s go.”
Jason seemed mildly upset about leaving the game, looking hesitantly out at the field before determination set in and he wrapped an arm around Michael. The walked in an awkward silence down the hallway, Michael feeling mildly embarrassed by their closeness but not caring enough to move away. Jason was the kind of guy who liked to be helpful, so he might as well humor him.
“So.” Michael started. “Do you like hockey?”
“Yes.” Came Jason’s response, so immediate and carrying such genuinity that Michael was caught off guard.
“Then why don’t you play?”
“Ma says I can’t, says if I do I’ll get injured and it’ll make my h-hypro--hydrocef…” His brow furrowed. “...My condition worse.”
“Oh. Well…” Michael searched for something to say. “I-I hope you’ll get to play someday.”
Jason’s eye brightened, and he appeared to be smiling under his bag. “Me too.”
Once they reached the nurse’s office the nurse almost had to force Jason to leave, but with several reassurances that Michael wouldn’t die he was convinced to go. Michael found himself captivated by the oddly innocent nature of the giant student, and his interest in discovering what sort of face he was hiding grew exponentially. Michael always was a curious child, and once that side of him was awakened nothing could stop him from getting what he wants