You Asked For It [Sammy]

[Jackeroe Connick]

In most schools, the sight of a faculty member carrying a fire extinguisher would be an alarming sight. It would often be accompanied with questioning looks and maybe a bit of running. However, since Hammel was not an ordinary school, the sight of Mr. Connick sauntering down the hall with said item didn’t alarm anyone- in fact, it made everyone feel much safer, in a subconscious way. His cheerful whistle, his aura of content, and his bouncing gait made everyone who passed him feel secure. They all knew exactly where he was going, and his right turn into the gym confirmed it.

He’s off to try and train Samuel. Again.

If there was ever a student that challenged him, it was Sammy. It wasn’t that he refused to work- he was quite eager, some days- it was his lack of control in general. He wasn’t sure how many fire extinguishers he had gone through since he had agreed to train the boy, but he was sure it was in the middle of the double digits and would be in the triple digits within a few months, at the rate they were going. They didn’t train in the gym all that often- most of the time they were out in the training field, but Sammy’s attitude toward cold weather had forced them inside for the time being. If the teen decided to piss Jack off, though, they could easily head outside. The gym was warm, and it provided much more space than his training room.

Plus the floor was somewhat flame resistant. And easy to clean.

“Hope he isn’t late this time.” Jackeroe thought out loud, sitting the red canister on the floor as he pulled out his phone, checking the time before turning it off. No, he didn’t turn it to vibrate, or even silent, he turned it off. It was a courtesy he gave all his students, even the frustrating ones. Well, one. He rubbed his hands together in anticipation, trying to promise himself that today’s training would go better then the last few sessions, for sure. Sammy would get the hang of it. The fire extinguisher would not have to be used. Nothing would catch fire! It was the best he could hope for. He’d scale Sammy’s power to fifty percent and work from there. He was certain that Sammy was getting better, although many would attempt to disprove him by pointing at the various damages done by him, some of which was recent. Jackeroe however, was bound and determined to remain optimistic.

That’s why he had a fire extinguisher.

[Samuel Rixon]

Sammy hated the gym.

He hated it almost as much as he hated his best friend, at the moment.

It wasn’t his fault he was running late. It was completely Vincent’s fault. Why? Because he’d been a perfect target for his stone age weapon test subject. Not only had he and Vincent had to be separated from trying to kill each other, but they’d had to listen to a lecture on behaviour (again) from Morgan, and been threatened with seeing Sean (again). Of course, no sooner had they left the classroom that they’d been at each other again. After kicking his (ex) best friend in the head, the pyro had taken off running in fear of retaliation. Of course, he’d run entirely the wrong way (because he wasn’t watching where he was going) and had ended up completely turned around and almost as far away from the gym as he could be.

Also, he’d forgotten that class was in the gym today.

That might have been due to the fact he’d taken a little tiny hit of something before class. Because really, he couldn’t handle English without it. NORMALLY it was something he did after classes, to unwind. But when English came first? Yeah. So it wasn’t entirely his fault he’d forgotten where Jackeroe had said where class was being held today.

At least it wasn’t outside.

If there was one thing Sam hated about winter, he could sum it up in one little word. ‘Everything.’ He hated the snow, the cold, the fact he had to tote around twice as many layers and felt like an idiot. There wasn’t much more he hated more than cold weather. Except gym. And Vincent.

Speaking of whom...

After that kick to the head, Vincent hadn’t been all that willing to forgive and forget. He’d been out for revenge. After going outside and pelting a few snowballs at his fellow students dumb enough to be out in the cold, he’d decided to take some inside, just in case. Yes, it was perfectly normal for him to be trailing around the hallways with handfuls of snow. He was on a mission. And that mission had to have been from God himself, because he hadn’t even been wandering for more than a few minutes when he caught the back of a very, very familiar student. The goth had grinned to himself, and snuck up on him. Sammy hadn’t expected it. Hadn’t even heard him. All he knew was that arms were wrapped around him, a sloppy kiss was dropped on his cheek, and he felt something freezing cold slide down his back. What was worse, while that distracted him, he felt a hand dip below the waistband of his jeans, and something cold slide down there.

Yeah. He screamed. A bit like a girl.

And what was his best friend doing? Cackling like a mad man. Vincent grinned and flipped Sammy off. “I WIN, MUTHAFUCKA!” And that was it. He was off running. And Sam was now wet, pissed off, and cold.

That was how he entered the gym. Shivering, cursing, and late.

Sorry, Jackie.

[Jackeroe Connick]

Normally, Jackeroe wouldn’t care if his charges were late, but this was Sammy, and Sammy was different on a myriad of different levels, emotionally, physically, and mentally. For one, given his age he should be working with his power just fine by this point maybe even enough that he could graduate from Hammel, yet the school still had burn marks on things and things were still catching fire. If things went on like this, he would be considered even more of a danger to himself and to others around him, and that would mean even more bad press for the meta-human community as a whole. While Jack didn’t want to overlook Samuel as an individual, he had to, unfortunately, look at the big picture. And the big picture was looking grim. Not to mention that Sam, mentally, needed a good kick in the head every once in a while in order to get his act together. As a power trainer, Jackeroe could only do so much, but he still wanted to help Sammy realize that life wasn’t all fun and games.

Jackeroe had been on his feet for some time thinking and he didn’t realize it until he snapped out of his reverie. Sam still wasn’t there, and Jackeroe glanced at the wall clock behind him, which told him that Sam was late once again. If this kept up, he’d have to go get the boy and drag him to training rather than wait for him to come. This whole song and dance was getting tiring, and while Jackeroe had a seemingly endless sense of humor, he also had a patience meter, and it was running on ‘thin’. He sighed and picked the extinguisher up, ready to walk out of the gym to find the boy and beat him over the head with it give him a stern talk and drag him away.

But as the trainer was heading toward one door, Sammy walked in another. Jackeroe paused mid-step and frowned, looking up to the clock. Sammy was a good fifteen minutes late. If it had been ten, it would’ve been minor. Five, he would actually praise him for. On time would’ve been apocalyptic. But fifteen minutes would not fly. “I’d ask you where you’ve been, but I’ll likely get some lame excuse you used a couple weeks ago.” Jack said with a hard tone to his voice as he strode over to him, ready to give him the lecture of a lifetime. As he got closer, though, he realized that, for some obscure reason, Sam was shivering and his pants were soaking wet.

This, he could excuse. But just this once. “Sam, are you okay? What the hell happened to you?”

[Samuel Rixon]

Samuel needed a good deal more than a simple kick in the head to straighten him out. Despite countless appearances before Dr. Neville for punishment, or drug discussions, he was still as wild as ever. He only seemed to grow worse, with the combining influences of one Vincent Verax, as well as his 'habit.' Jackeroe was a good influence on him, but that really only went so far. He tried for his trainer, he really did. But when one was as absent minded as Sam, it was easy to let things slip through the cracks. He liked to think he was making progress. At least, up until yet another mini-inferno went off when he least expected it.

Really, he deserved the reaming out Jackeroe was about to give him. For being a little high, for being late, for showing up swearing and wet. Okay, so that last one wasn't entirely his fault. But he was still late. And smelling distinctly of smoke, and not the kind that usually acompanied his ability. He shot a pouty glare at his trainer. "It totally wasn't my fault!" No Sam, of course not. It's never your fault. He shivered again, looking quite miserable.

At least Jackeroe had the sense to look like he cared. Despite the fact that Sam knew he didn't deserve it (that much), he'd take all the sympathy he could milk out of the situation. "Verax," he spat, more a curse than a name. It was a little frightening, how often he spoke his best friend's name like that. "He ambushed me in the hall. With snow." He sounded downright whiny.

He fidgeted slightly, wishing he’d had a chance to get back to his dorm and change, but he’d been late enough already. It didn’t help his case that technically it was his fault that Vincent had ambushed him. Revenge for their earlier battle in History. And the kick. He shivered, wrapping his arms around himself. “’m fine. ‘l-less I die from hyperthermia.” Yes, hyperthermia, apparently. The idiot. “S-sorry ‘m late.” If he was getting pity, yes, he was going to take advantage of it. And he knew apologies would help in this case.

[Jackeroe Connick]

Jackeroe stalked toward the boy and stopped a few feet away, crossing his arms and staring at him as he gave his answer. Jackeroe winced. Vincent. Of course. He should have suspected as much; any time Sammy was in trouble it was usually right alongside Verax. Jackeroe could almost forgive him, if it wasn’t for the fact that Sammy probably had a reason for Vincent’s ambush. The boy may usually do some stupid things to Sammy, some of which were spontaneous, but that was just it- throwing snow down Samuel’s pants wasn’t idiotic at all, which meant Vincent had actually sat down and thought about doing it, meaning Sam had pissed him off somehow and he was exacting some sort of revenge.

It was sort of sad that it was that predictable.

“Hypothermia, Sam. Hyperthermia means dying from heat.” Jackeroe noted that Sammy looked fairly remorseful, and he was about to let him off the hook. When he walked up to Sam, however, he stopped, blinked, and smelled the air. “Sam.” He said darkly, before leaning forward to take a good whiff of him. Jackeroe gritted his teeth and looked down at the teenager, his knuckles growing white as he clenched his hands. “Why. Do you smell. Like POT?!” The last word was a loud yell, and if it was possible for Jackeroe to blow steam from his ears, the entire place would have been an instant sauna. It was obvious that he was beyond pissed off by this point, and it was scary to see Jackeroe angry.

“I cannot believe you! You waltz in fifteen minutes late sopping wet because you were messing around and acting like an idiot, and you don’t even have the decency to come and take this seriously? You can’t just go off and get high as a kite whenever the real world is stressing you out, Sam! How are you ever going to graduate if you don’t get off your ass and work for it?! Jackeroe threw down the fire extinguisher with a loud clang and gestured at the boy. “I bet you couldn’t even make a flame and put it out if you wanted to. You are older than more than three fourths of the kids in this school, and you can’t even snap your fingers and make a decent sized flame without setting something or someone on fire. You have no control over your powers, but you don’t want to do the work to get there! Doesn’t that bother you at all?!”

Most teachers would’ve told Jackeroe to calm down and stop yelling at Sam, but that was how he had to handle him- yelling at him was the only way to make him listen and understand what he was saying. He sighed and rubbed his forehead, feeling a headache coming on. “For once in your life, Sam, can you just... try? I’m not asking you to be perfect. Hell, I’m not even asking you to quit pot. But at least come to training like you actually want to learn how to do something with yourself. Can you do that, for once?”

Because honestly, Jackeroe was tired of this.

[Samuel Rixon]

Sam hated that look. The crossed arms, the look that said ‘this better be good or you’re in BIG TROUBLE.’ Jackeroe was good at giving that look. He was even better at following through. The teenager squirmed under Jack’s gaze, wondering just what he was thinking. What he was planning. No doubt some form of punishment was coming. And considering Jack’s personality, it would probably involve training outside.

“... Oh.” Well, that was a handy little bit of knowledge. Hyperthermia sounded like so much more fun though. Hyper. Normally, Jackeroe was hyper was fun. But today, it looked like a few too many buttons had been pushed. Or maybe he was just grumpy. Either way, when he stepped closer and said his name, Sam looked up at him, shrinking back slightly. Uh oh. It was rare to see Jackeroe like this, and Sam knew it. He opened his mouth to explain, but Jackeroe only started ranting more.

“I – “

“But – “

“It’s not my – “

“I didn’t – “

Yeah, it was no use. Jackeroe kept going. Sam stared at the floor, flinching when the fire extinguisher was thrown. But something sparked in him when the challenge was issued. He couldn’t make a flame and put it out again? His fingers balled into fists. Jackeroe wanted a fire? He could give him a fire. “Quit YELLING AT ME.” Sammy stepped away from him and raised his hand. “I wanna learn!” He held out his hand and concentrated, forcing a little stream of flame to flicker across his fingers. It was harder than normal, likely because of his slight impairment. But he had a cocky little smirk on his face. “I fuckin’ win!” Well, half the battle was won. He’d made the flame. Now he had to snuff it out. But now he was amused by making the little string of flames run in circles around his wrist, twisting around and around. He giggled, reversing the circling and sending them back to his hand. Then he looked up at Jack, totally clueless. “Why were you mad again? You ain’t got laid?” Sam, you’re treading thin ice.