Chapter Text
It’s been really rough for the Coach.
Three years ago, he was in a bit of a rut with the whole ‘villain job’ thing. At the time, seizing the moment and stealing that nerdy blonde kid’s stupid potato robot seemed like a good idea.
He’s changed his mind. It may just have been one of the dumbest moves he’s ever made in his life.
Besides facing jail time, he thankfully didn’t experience too much repercussion for the robot punching a massive hole through several floors of his apartment building, due to Fair City’s strange laws on property damage. He was also lucky that there wasn’t too much personal loss in terms of items because of how he set up his apartment. At most, he lost a few chairs and a rug.
It was strange having to crash at Timmy Tim-Bo’s place while he waited for his apartment to be repaired. Tim-Bo’s place was cluttered with random useless crap he’s basically never used and absolutely reeked of weed. His only actual bed was a small air mattress, so the Coach either slept on the very messed up couch, or on a pile of pillows and blankets in a corner like a dog. Every time he stepped outside, he felt like he was being hit in the chest with a semi-truck with how different the air quality was. It was miserable.
When his apartment was finally repaired, things didn’t get any better. He was glad to be rid of Timmy’s dark gross den of an apartment, but for a long while he had zero idea of what to do with himself. It didn’t help that he had a nearly constant migraine from the constant pounding of construction all around him.
Once things calmed down more, the Coach only found himself more stuck. Bills and necessities started piling up, and he wasn’t (and still isn’t) exactly getting paid very well. His mind absolutely demanded that he organize it all, because looking at the clutter of paper work made him itch and want to pull his hair out, but at the same time he just couldn’t. He’d procrastinate, purposely distract himself with some garbage tv show or try to reorganize his already organized things. It all continued to pile up.
Eventually, after having nothing to do but avoid filing taxes for several weeks, the Evil Villains Association contacted him for the first time in a while. They were the people who gave him the go ahead and support on the Villain School, and the permission to change the ranks of villains in fair city. They were what got him most of his money.
The EVA had contacted him because they had heard of his apartment being destroyed, and the gap in messages had come from them being unsure if he was back at his home. They gave him the go ahead to reopen his villain school, with the one rule to be discreet about it. Whatever the hell that meant.
So great, another distraction… was his initial thought. First, he had to plan a way to advertise the school without being obvious. His first thought was maybe he could ask the previous students to help. He, thankfully, figured out this was a bad idea really quickly. Big Left Hand Guy and Invisibill hardly have a standing in villain society, his relationship with Miss Question was strained because of how he failed her, Timmy Tim-Bo was respectfully kinda useless for anything villain related, and the Whammer…
The Coach cringed hard at the thought of the Whammer trying to advertise anything.
That idea was quickly thrown out the window, so he went for something much more complicated.
Around the city, various fliers for his old life coach job were put up, with a phone number posted up. However, there were two versions of the ad placed around. The first version was an actual old ad of his:
“Looking for something to help you be more independent? Call the Coach! He’ll help you get back on track. He gives financial, and emotional advice.” The phone number followed afterwards. If you tried calling the number, the operating system would tell you that the phone number no longer works, and redirects you to a similar agency (as “villainous” as he attempts to be, The Coach felt guilty at the idea of someone needing genuine help being misled, which is why he included the redirection) .
The second version of the flier was very similar, but subtly different. Just subtle enough that most people wouldn’t bother with it, but different enough it may make the right person do a double take:
“Looking for something to help you succeed in being more villainous? Call the Coach! He’ll help you get on track, and he’ll show you the basics in supervillainy.” Once again, a phone number followed afterwards. This one was the Coach’s actual number.
As genius as the idea sounded on paper, it was an absolute pain in the ass to execute. The payoff wasn’t great, as only two students signed up. The first was Glen Furlblam, who really wanted to properly become a villain so that he could surpass Dr Two Brains. He was annoying a majority of the time, but wasn’t the absolute worst. On the other hand was Captain Tangent. The kid meant well, but the first day of class, the Coach desperately wanted to waterboard himself in the kitchen sink just to block out Tangent’s…well, tangents.
Great! He has his villain school back!…. Was his initial thought. All this actually meant was more work for the Coach, as he had to plan lessons, and schedule lessons, and plan homework, and then find a way to slot the homework to fit with the lessons, because he was so damn inconsistent with it all!
On top of all that, he still had his bills, and his taxes, and the EVA and police were up his ass trying to make sure he was on top of his work, but at the same time make sure he wasn’t committing any crimes!
Then on TOP of all that, his previous students keep inviting him to hang outs and asking him favors pretty much constantly, and he can’t say no or explain himself because he’ll sound too mean, or sound too suspicious to anyone overhearing them in public. All of that only further puts his work off.
He’s buried himself so deep into his work it started throwing off his sleep schedule. In a futile attempt to find some way to be consistent, he’s created bullet points in his planning as little checkpoints, and he forces himself to finish that checkpoint before relaxing. This typically means he forces himself to stay awake late into the night.
Most of the time he feels like he never sleeps, which according to the others isn’t true. Sometimes they’ll come over and he’s passed out somewhere strange; maybe at his desk, but sometimes in more bizarre areas like under his dining table or in the bathroom.
Maybe deep down he finds that embarrassing, but who cares! He’s too busy.
Does he eat, drink, and bathe consistently either? No! He skips meals, he dehydrates himself, and the less baths means the lower the water bill is. Sure it’s not ideal, but who gives a damn!
That was the Coach’s life for what felt like forever… until he stopped.
It was about 8:30 am on a Friday, which was actually surprisingly early for him. His brain felt like tv static, his sight was a blurred mess despite his glasses being on, and for what felt like an eternity, rather than doing anything productive, he sat on the couch and stared at the tv, despite it being turned off.
It was somewhere in this hazy state he was in that a thought occurred: he cannot keep living like this. He’s hardly functioning at the moment, and what if one day he passes out while standing up and concusses himself on the side of a table? What if he goes into some sort of fit from the deprivation of food and water? He’d probably die there in his apartment, alone, and no one would find him until his neighbors, who already can’t stand him, inform the landlord, who also can’t stand him, of the smell of his rotting body coming from his apartment. Or maybe one of his students would drop in for class and find him.
His mind was stuck on this horrific glue trap of a thought for a while.
He doesn’t want to die alone.
Good god does he not want to die alone.
Slowly, he willed himself to stand up, and swayed slightly as he did so. One more day. He will push one more day. Tomorrow, he gets his shit together. He’ll cram as much work as he can today, then tomorrow he makes a proper schedule and properly organizes everything, curing the itch.
He can do it. He’ll be ok.
Of course, everything gets derailed the day he planned on fixing it all.
—————————————————————————————————————
That night, the Coach made sure to go to bed early and actually sleep in his bed. He set an alarm so he wouldn’t accidentally oversleep. Thankfully, he slept easily, since he was exhausted. So far so good.
The next morning, he made sure the first thing he did was properly take care of himself. He showered, brushed his teeth, and had a small breakfast with what was available in the fridge. Still, so far so good.
He decided to trim his mustache and shave, just to make himself feel neater. It was quiet, the only real noises were the quiet hum of the bathroom light, the muffled traffic outside, and the occasional sound of the scissors. These noises would’ve been interpreted as nails on the chalkboard of his concentration earlier in the week, but now they weren’t so bad. Relaxing even. So far so good…
Until the calm was interrupted by the combined noise of his front door practically slamming open and the very loud, very familiar “WHAM!” It startled the still sleep deprived Coach so badly he practically jumped out of his skin, which caused him to accidentally slash the scissors against his cheek and cut himself.
It stung. A lot. But in the moment, rather than react to the cut, he whipped around to look out the bathroom door he hadn’t bothered closing because he lived alone (which, thankfully, wasn’t a problem because he was wearing an undershirt and sweatpants). Surprise surprise, the loud entrance had been made by the Whammer… wait, no, it was a surprise. Why the hell was he here??
The Whammer spotted the still shell shocked Coach and grinned wide. “Good whammin morning Coach!” He said, rushing over and lifting the Coach into a suffocating hug.
“W-Whammer!? What are you doing here- h-how did you even get in- did you break my door!?” He sputtered, struggling to speak from how tight the hug was. It only dawned on him after he spoke that that had been the first thing he had said out loud in a while, and it made his throat feel funny.
“Ooooof course not! You whammed me an extra key, remember!” The Whammer replied gleefully, putting the Coach down and showing off said key. It took a moment for the Coach to process what the Whammer had said. Yeah.. yeah that was true. He did do that.
When the Coach first met the Whammer, he immediately thought the guy was just loud and extroverted, but quickly grew terrified when he was left a threatening message from the Whammer before being dragged off to jail. Part of him was fully expecting to get beaten to death by the muscular villain, but when he met with the Whammer again in jail, the Whammer came off as more saddened and betrayed than angry.
Honestly, the Coach isn’t quite sure how they got on “friendly” terms again. Maybe the Whammer just forgot. Now, the Whammer constantly calls or visits to see how he’s doing, and even helps occasionally with the villain school.
Such was the case with today's visit.
Shakily, the Coach went over to close and lock his front door. “You- uh- came in at a bad time. Let me put a shirt on” He sighed, going over to his bedroom while partially listening to whatever Whammer was saying.
“Whammer only dropped by to give the good news!” Whammer said while eyeing all of the Coach’s stuff, despite having been at the apartment several times in the past.
“Oh yeah? What’s that?“ As the Coach picked a random t-shirt from his shirt drawer and put it on, he felt the stinging on his face start to get worse. He briefly felt his face and realized he was bleeding badly. He swore under his breath and tried to discreetly edge his way back to the bathroom. He didn’t want to draw attention to it, mostly because some part of him assumed the Whammer would somehow make it worse.
“Whammer and all the schoolers have been saving up money for a special trip!”
“Uh uh, that’s nice. Where to?” The Coach said absently, cleaning and patching the cut with things he pulled out of the bathroom cabinet.
“A water park resort.” The Whammer grinned proudly.
The Coach paused briefly. “I- wow, really?” He asked, genuinely surprised. “Where’d you get the money?”
The Whammer chuckled mischievously. “Some combined effort” was all he said. The Coach rolled his eyes and smiled at this, feeling a mild sense of pride at the implication of that statement.
“Anyway, we all get to go!”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah! We’ve got tickets for both of us and the other schoolers!”
“What.”
Whammer went on a tangent about everything they had been planning, but the Coach wasn’t listening. His thoughts were consumed by an extreme amount of dread. What does he do? He has a lot of stuff to do, too much stuff to do, and a lot of it was due soon. If he’s late with it, it could get him in serious trouble.
It’s not like he could say no either though. From the way Whammer phrased it, they had already bought a spot for him. If he says no, he’s wasting their money, and he of all people knows how awful it’d be to throw away money.
He desperately wanted to say something, and part of him mustered the courage to try and tell the Whammer of his situation. Letting out a quiet, shaky breath, he finished bandaging the cut on his face and stepped out of the bathroom. “When’s the trip?” He found himself asking.
“Three days!”
Fuck.
He had been hoping there was a chance that there’d be enough time to get most of his stuff done before the trip, but he knew that three days would pass by way too quickly. Damn the Whammer and his piss poor surprise planning. He had to say something.
He couldn’t not say something.
But, the second he looked at the Whammer properly and saw the ecstatic look on his face, filled with joy and excitement for the trip, the Coach instantly felt his confidence crumble.
“S-sounds fun..” Coach said nervously, forcing a smile.
The Whammer scooped him up into a second hug with an excited shout of celebration. The Coach accepted it in defeat, dropping his smile. He internally felt horrible. He put his smile back on again when the Whammer looked down at him and mentioned how he liked the same band as the one on his t-shirt.
The Coach just nodded along to whatever the Whammer was saying, already brainstorming ways to somehow fix his schedule… again.
—————————————————————————————————————
As much as the Coach wanted to do some actual work, he promised himself to stick to his previously planned schedule. He started off by sorting his work by when they were due.
After finishing that, he got started on actually working. Thankfully, he actually got a small amount of it done. It wasn't much, but it was enough to ease his worries… for a bit.
He had been planning on starting to pack tomorrow. Whammer had explained they would be staying for five days. However, when he double checked his calendar for anything he’d need to push back, he felt his heart drop to his stomach.
Oh dear god, he had a class tomorrow. How the hell did he forget!?
The class itself he’d have no problem with. He already had the lesson plans ready and most of it set up. The problem was pretty much everything else.
He dropped whatever he was working on and started packing. Where they were going was somewhere in the mountains, but the summer weather would make it warm even up there. He was thankful that the small amount of swimwear he owned still fit, but it’s not like he planned on swimming. However, he could predict being somehow thrown into a pool, and he didn’t want to be in clothes for when that happens.
After triple checking he had all the clothes he needed, he shoved his suitcase under his bed so that he wouldn’t have to think about it until he left.
Next, he left his bedroom and started rearranging the dining table and chairs for the class tomorrow. It’s a simple class, it won’t be that hard to push through. Plus, he most likely would have a lot of time afterwards to keep working.
He went back to his desk in his room after he finished setting up the lesson and sat back down at his desk. Part of him wanted to turn music on, but most of the records he owned weren’t exactly good for staying concentrated. The Coach felt slightly ill, with his heart beat starting to speed up. He was simultaneously incredibly exhausted and incredibly restless, fidgeting in his chair.
He took a deep breath.
It’ll be fine. He hugged himself, rubbing his arms and squeezing his eyes shut, trying to shake off the anxiety. He can do it. He’ll find some way to sort everything out. It’s fine. He’ll be ok.
He opened his eyes and picked his pencil back up, ignoring the ache in his hand from writing so much paperwork.
It’s not like he has to worry about the class tomorrow.
——————-———————————————-————————————————
The next day went horribly.
To start off, he had to wake up earlier than his body wanted to, so he was a groggy mess. He forced himself to get up, shower, and stomach whatever food he had available for breakfast.
Next, all he had to do was sit and wait for Glen and Tangent to show up. Easy, he can do that.
However, he ended up accidentally falling back asleep. This led to Glen and Tangent walking into the apartment and finding the Coach passed out on the couch. Glen’s ‘gentle’ attempts to wake him up, involving banging two pans together, startled the Coach so badly, it caused him to fall off the couch in a way that it led to him having an achy pain in his shoulder blade for the rest of the lesson.
The lesson itself was a slog to get through, both with the added on pain, and Tangent rambling on about how excited he was for the trip. Not only was it annoying, it just made the Coach’s brain latch onto the guilt and fear of not having his shit together. He could only agree and nod along to whatever his students were saying, similarly to how he had acted with the Whammer yesterday.
Internally, any and all sort of patience and tolerance for these two students in particular left his body. They became so unbearable with their little quips and their tendency to just talk and talk and talk and.. talk. Over the course of what was meant to be a simple, 3 hour lesson about the basics of some villain history, the Coach felt himself start to slowly lose it. He was one more interruption from snapping, and yelling at the two of them to get out, leave him alone, and to tell the Whammer to give his ticket to someone else.
But he didn’t.
Captain Tangent and Glen eventually left, and for a good few minutes, the Coach just sat there, trying to relax now that his apartment was quiet and guest free. He couldn’t stay sitting like that forever, to his dismay. Reluctantly, he went back to his bedroom, back to his desk, and back to the paperwork.
He stared at the paper for a long time, not writing anything. He was tense, and all his annoyance from the class came back full force. He glared daggers at the heaps of paperwork as if he just watched it murder someone he loved. Like it just told him something so disgustingly offensive you couldn’t help but get mad. Because it had been causing him so much mental anguish for months.
He didn’t register himself shaking in his frustration. He just slowly stood up, pushing his chair back. His gut reaction was an intense need to punch or break something. Wildly, he looked around his bedroom, trying to find some outlet for the pure rage he felt that was less destructive. Breathing heavily, he suddenly kicked his chair over with such force it was nearly across the room, before throwing himself onto the bed, burying his face into his pillow, and screaming like he was dying. As if his debt and the forms he had been forced to fill out had stabbed him in the abdomen, and he was hoping someone would hear him and call for help.
Help he desperately needed from his current situation.
The Coach kept up the screaming and kicking like a child having a tantrum until his throat hurt. Then he just lay there, face still buried into the pillow. Would it have been better if he got to scream without the pillow? Maybe, but his neighbors would’ve filed a noise complaint.. or a wellness check. He was numb, an overwhelming desire to give up holding him close to its cold, merciless chest, practically breathing down his neck. All his frustration melted into more of an intense depression. Eventually, He slowly got up, got a glass of water for his throat, and went back to his desk.
For a while he just stared at the paper again, but not with rage. Instead, he stared at this inanimate object with a tired, pleading look. The kind of look that just begs for mercy and relief. The kind of look only a very tired, broken person can give.
The Coach took a deep breath. “Here’s the plan” he thought to himself. “Pack all the paperwork you need to do before you get back from the trip, and get a good night's sleep. You can do this.”
“I’m. Going. To be. Ok.” He lied.
—————————-———————————————————————-—————
It was the day of the trip, and the day had already started atrociously.
First of all, the Coach hardly slept at all. His night consisted of uneasy tossing and turning, brief flashes of unconsciousness, and a desire to die on the spot the second his alarm went off.
He couldn’t do that, so he got up and trudged his way through his routine. It felt like he was pulling his brain out of tar with every action. After forcing down a sad excuse of a breakfast, he received a phone call. He dragged himself over to the phone.
“Hello, Coach speaking” He grumbled, not sounding awake at all.
“Hey teach!” Surprisingly, it was Big Left Hand Guy. “Just calling to let you know we’re all meeting up in front of the park”
“Ok is that all-“ The Coach rushed, trying to get out of the conversation as quickly as possible, considering the fact he did not feel well enough to have one.
“Oh- uh- just try to get there by 9:45. Bye!”
The Coach put his phone down and let out a pained sigh. He went to his bedroom and got all of his bags out from under his bed. He gave his desk one last reluctant look before leaving his room, and soon after, his apartment.
Since he knew he had the time, he stopped by a nearby coffee shop and ordered the most caffeinated drink possible in the largest cup available. The barista even gave him a concerned “Are you sure sir?” The Coach only gave her a pained look in response, and he left that coffee shop with a monstrosity of espresso, sugar, and added energy boosters.
The walk wasn’t that bad. It was a little awkward carrying his bags and simultaneously drinking his coffee, but it’d probably be his most peaceful part of the morning. It was very quiet, considering it was still pretty early.
He made it to the nearby empty park pretty much just on time, and immediately spotted the group of villain schoolers. The Whammer hadn’t really explained the extent of the group, so The Coach was mildly surprised to see Glen and Captain Tangent there as well. Mentally preparing himself, he chugged the rest of his drink, threw the cup away, and approached the group.
Immediately he felt bombarded. Invisibill was the first to spot him, and he excitedly seemed to poof out of existence before reappearing right in front of the Coach. “Hello!” He shouted, a big smile on his face. Used to this kind of behavior, the Coach only reacted by backing up slightly and replying with a tired “Hello Bill.”
The rest of the group noticed him and all gave him various forms of hello. “Great, seeing as we’re all here, we should get going!” said Big Left Hand Guy.
The Coach raised an eyebrow. “Are we going on a bus?”
Invisibill poofed away again and reappeared crouched behind Coach with his hands on his shoulders. “Nope! Invisibill and Lefty rented a car!” He replied, ignoring how the Coach went stiff at the feeling of unwanted physical contact. Big Left Hand Guy nodded and lightly patted the front of a nearby parked car with his right hand. It was an SUV of some kind, a car designed to fit 8 people. The Coach had to restrain himself from making a face showing his discomfort at the idea of being in a car with that many people.
“Didn’t you make some sort of seating chart, Whammer?” Ms Question suddenly chimed in. The Whammer nodded excitedly before pulling a slip of paper out from a pocket the Coach wasn’t even aware he had. The Whammer went up to Coach with said sheet and held it out to him.
It was a hardly coherent mess. He had to ask Whammer which was the front of the car and which was the back, as well as question the Whammer’s spelling. Eventually, the Coach could make out the sloppy handwriting (which seemed to have been written in crayon). The back row had Timmy Tim-Bo, Captain Tangent, and the Whammer. The middle row had Big Left Hand Guy, Invisibill, and Ms Question. Glen would be in the shotgun seat, which meant…
Oh crap, he’s driving.
The Coach’s initial thought of “why in the absolute hell-“ was cut off the longer he considered it. Technically, he was one out of the three people in the group who could drive, with the other two being Glen and Ms Question. Timmy would pass out behind the wheel, Tangent doesn’t have a license, the Whammer is notorious for accidentally ripping the steering wheels off of cars, Invisibill would get bored of it, and BLHG’s hand is a bit of a problem for properly driving.
The choice made sense. That didn’t mean the Coach wasn’t extremely annoyed by it.
He sighed and gave Whammer the paper back. “Whammer will wham those bags for you!” Whammer abruptly said, yoinking all of the Coach’s bags and heading towards the trunk of the car.
The Coach watched in dismay as the Whammer was about to throw his bags into the back of the car with no restraint. “For the love of- be gentle with those!” He yelled before the Whammer could do so. The Whammer paused, looked at him, and “lightly” chucked them in, which was not any better.
The Coach balled his hands into fists, but otherwise did nothing else to express his frustration. It’s fine.
After that, the group all crammed themselves into the car. The Coach had no complaints about the actual car, he could easily get comfortable in it… had he been fully awake and not packed full of anxiety about everything in general.
Glen, who was sitting shotgun, set up the GPS and propped it up for the Coach to look at. Estimated time was- Jesus fucking Christ, FOUR AND A HALF HOURS? Coach felt his eye twitch in some emotion that was a combination of annoyance and exhaustion. He took a breath. It’s fine.
Everyone else got themselves situated in their seats. After some scrambling, everyone was in. The Coach didn’t consider himself to be someone with claustrophobia, but he was starting to feel an intense itch. It’s fine.
Big Left Hand Guy tapped the back of the Coach’s chair. “We’re all good to go!” He said.
‘I’m not’ Coach wanted to say. “Cool.” He replied flatly, starting the car.
He can do this. It’s just driving a car. It’s fine.
—————————-———————————————————————-—————
70 minutes in and the Coach’s willpower (and sanity) was crumbling.
Currently they were stuck in traffic, which normally wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world, but he was currently incredibly overwhelmed. Every little strange, questionable movement made by the other cars on the road caused the Coach to automatically think “oh god, they’re going to crash into us.” But it’s fine.
The inside of the car was no better. It was loud. Everyone was talking over each other, and on top of that, Glen had chosen the shittiest, most god awful music to play. That only caused a loop, as the car seemed to get louder in bursts with people arguing over said music. The Coach didn’t even know it was possible to feel car sick while being the driver, but it was fine.
This whole time, the Coach had barely said a word. His concentration was glued on the road and the GPS. Whatever glue it was must’ve been of poor quality because that last statement was a big fat lie. He wasn’t focused on the road, he was focused on all the paperwork he still had to finish, trying to figure out where and how he would get the time to do it. He didn’t look at GPS for directions, he kept glancing at the estimated time, internally begging for it to please just go down, or for someone in the car to ask to stop at a rest stop so he could get a god damn break. It’s fine though.
On top of that, he was seriously regretting whatever drink he had earlier. While he had drank it hoping it would keep him awake throughout the trip, he now just felt groggy, ill, and fidgety. Which. Is. Fine.
He only has, what, three hours left of sitting in this horrible cramped car? It’s fine.
Sure he’s wasting time being here and not back at his desk trying to situate his life like he was supposed to be. It’s fine!
Sure, he made a terrible mistake not saying anything when the Whammer first invited him to the vacation, and now he’s potentially risking his future. It’s FINE!
Oh.
Oh god.
Who was he kidding?
It’s not fine. It’s not fine at all. He shouldn’t be here. He really shouldn’t be here.
The Coach felt his chest get tight, and his breathing began to pick up.
What if he can’t find the time to finish his bills? What kind of trouble will that get him? He’s not ready for federal prison or whatever Alcatraz people who miss their taxes get sent to!
He found himself staring less at the road, and more at the dashboard and steering wheel. His breathing was still fast and shallow.
What if his landlord evicted him!? Where is he supposed to go?? Who’s place is he meant to stay at, Timmy’s!? He’d die in that apartment! What about all of his stuff!?
One of his hands left the steering wheel and went to grip the fabric over his chest. His heart was beating as fast as whatever dubstep Glen had turned on.
All the horrible things going through his head started changing from “What if?” To “I will.” He is going to lose everything, and there’s nothing he can do about it.
The Coach had gone from fast, shallow breathing, to much more audible gasps for air. It took him a moment to register the fact someone was touching him. He struggled to turn his head slightly and see it was Glen who had put his hand on his shoulder. The Coach couldn’t process what was being said to him, nor could he easily make out the concern on Glen and the others’ faces. Glen said something to him, but his ears were ringing. His glasses were starting to fog.
Unable to form a response, the Coach let out a strangled whimper before leaning back in his chair and going straight back to gasping for air. It felt like his lungs had completely stopped working. In his panic, he hadn’t realized he had taken both hands off the steering wheel. One hand was still over his chest, the other was now gripping and pulling at his hair.
Glen had to quickly lean over and grab the wheel himself so that they wouldn’t crash into someone. It didn’t help that The Coach still had one foot firmly planted on the clutch pedal, and the other over the gas. Everytime he twitched abruptly and pressed down on the gas, the car would jolt forward violently, furthering the panic of everyone in the car.
The Coach turned over onto his left side. Every gasp of air he took in started to sound more like a combination of a wheeze and a whimper. He had zero idea what was happening around him, all he could tell was that it was all his fault. It was his fault he was in the car to begin with, because he can’t speak up for himself. It’s his fault he’s so behind on everything, because he’s a horrible procrastinator. It’s his fault he has all this extra work to begin with, because he’s a horrible, greedy, piece of shit human being, who needed some high to get off on. It’s the only reason he’s a villain! It’s the only reason he started the school! Because he’s horrible.
He screwed his eyes shut. His chest hurt from the sensation of trying to get oxygen fast enough to supply his beating heart, which felt more like a motor in his chest at this point. The caffeine was hitting him hard. God, let him wake up. Let him wake up back at home, where the trip never existed in the first place. Let him wake up, or die of cardiac arrest. Kill him so that he’s put out of his misery, it’s not like he has anything to live for.
He was dissociating hard by now. He wasn’t sure where he was. He couldn’t see, he could hear, he couldn’t even feel. All he knew was that he was a beating heart and a pair of lungs, both trying to work. At any point, one of the two would give up, the other would fail just as quickly, and he could finally just-
“Hey, teach, can you hear me?” A sudden, familiar voice rang out.
The Coach’s eyes snapped open. He looked around wildly. Where was he? Who said that?
“Coach? Can you hear me?” The voice repeated, a little louder.
The Coach looked towards the noise. It took a moment for him to realize who said it: Big Left Hand Guy, who was in front of him, standing and looking down at him with a calm, but concerned look. After a moment of just staring with wide, nearly terrified eyes, The Coach found the strength to swallow in between one of his gasps, and he nodded.
Big Left Hand Guy smiled softly. “Ok, good. Do you think you can speak?” He asked.
A small part of the Coach’s panic let go of him. His heart still felt like it was going to explode out of his chest as if he were in the dinner scene of the movie Alien, but his throat felt less tight. “I-I.. yeah..” He managed to force out of himself.
“Good, that’s good. Just try to name 5 things you can see. Can you do that?” BLHG continued.
The Coach nodded. “Uh-.. y-you..” he responded before he looked up above BLHG’s head for a second. He managed to get his eyes to focus, and managed to see they were surrounded by…“T-trees?” He stuttered, confused. He looked to BLHG for confirmation, who nodded.
If he’s seeing trees, where’s the car? Coach looked to his left. Coincidentally, said car was parked nearby, and surprisingly lacked any sign of damage. “Car” he said after a pause. His mind froze for a moment, trying to figure out who were the two people standing right next to the car. They were both clearly trying their best to not look worried for his well being. Mentally, he kicked himself for being an idiot once he was able to put names to the faces. “Tangent and Ms Question” he sighed. Ms Question gave him a small nod, while Captain Tangent grinned nervously and waved.
“Thank you. How about 4 things you can touch?” The Coach snapped his head back towards BLHG once he heard his voice again. A part of him ached with guilt when he noticed he startled the other man, but nodded in response.
The Coach’s hands locked up at first, still clutching at his chest. When he realized this, he nervously stammered “s-shirt” before letting himself go. Being unable to feel his rapid heartbeat as much somehow made him a bit more calm. He reached down and felt his legs. Has he been sitting this whole time?
“Pants.”
His next instinct was to try and feel the ground, but his hand made contact with something else. It was someone else’s leg. After a moment of the Coach trying to process this, a much larger, gloved hand gently took his own. The Coach looked up behind him, and made eye contact with the eyes of the Whammer. Whammer was looking at him with the same worried, nearly sad look a dog might give its owner when it notices they’re upset. “Hi Whammer..” Coach sighed before looking back forward.
Here’s what he gathered so far; he’s no longer in the car…and he’s sat on the Whammer’s lap.
Honestly, it’s not the weirdest position he’s ever been in.
Gently, hands still shaking, he reached down and felt the ground. He mostly felt dirt, but did end up grabbing some blades of grass. “Ground.” He said after a moment. Already, he was starting to ease up.
“What about 3 things you hear?” BLHG asked. He looked much more relaxed himself, seeing that the Coach was starting to calm down.
The Coach took a moment to listen to any noticeable noises. He could make out the sound of some birds. After saying so, he mentally confirmed he was outside… somewhere. Somewhere to his left was the distant, familiar sound of cars. “Traffic?” He said, unsure.
“Mhm, just one more thing” BLHG encouraged gently.
Somewhere behind him, the Coach heard what sounded like hushed talking. He turned, looking past the Whammer’s shoulder. It was the rest of the villain schoolers. The noise had come from Invisibill nervously asking Timmy something. Upon noticing that the Coach was looking, Invisibill stopped talking and shot Coach his best attempt at a reassuring smile. The Coach turned back around. “Them.” He said in a tone that made it clear that he was more or less ok now.
“Thank you. You alright teach?” Big Left Hand Guy kneeled slightly so he wasn’t looming over the Coach. The Coach leaned back against the Whammer’s chest. Using the feeling of the Whammer’s gloved hand to fully ground himself, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. After a moment, he opened his eyes and looked back up at BLHG.
“Better. Thank you” he replied. It felt wrong to say he was ‘ok,’ because he sure as hell didn’t feel that way. He was starting to crash from his caffeine rush, and that combined with his overall sleep deprivation made him feel incredibly groggy.
He used his free hand to rub his head and fix his messy hair. He could feel a migraine coming on. “Sorry, I.. I blanked out for a bit. What happened? Where are we?” He asked, noticeably growing tired quickly. Everyone else came into his field of vision, minus the Whammer who was still holding him and continuing to be uncharacteristically quiet.
“Eh- well, we were in the car, and I noticed you were breathing weird, so I tried asking if you were ok.” Glen started. “I put my hand on your shoulder, and you gave me this super freaked out look, but didn’t respond.”
“You then, like, let go of the wheel completely and Glen had to lean over you and drive” Timmy suddenly cut in, much to the visible annoyance of Glen. “We thought you were having a heart attack or something dude.”
As much as the Coach knew Timmy meant no harm with the comment, his currently vulnerable state made him take it in a wrong way. “I’m not that old.” He grumbled with a slight edge of offense. The others almost immediately picked up on it.
“Oh- uh- he wasn’t sayin’ ye were sir!” Captain Tangent cut in. Everyone else looked at each other with a sort of dread, fully prepared for Tangent to screw everything up with one of his rants. “All dat we’re sayin' be dat ye- uh- may 'ave some- some problems we were jus' unaware o' 'n they could be affected by yer age-“ he started nervously stammering, clearly trying his best to remedy the situation, but was doing poorly at trying to convince the Coach.
“Tangent, seriously, I’m only 40” The Coach eventually interrupted.
“You are-?” Captain Tangent said with a voice crack, caught so off guard he lost his pirate accent.
“Tangent, could you maybe shut up?” Ms Question said in a faux friendly tone, stopping Tangent from continuing his rambling. Tangent cringed back, looking a little hurt.
“I don’t want a play by play, I just want to know how we got in the woods” The Coach started rubbing his temple. They better hurry this up, he feels like he’s going to pass out.
“Oh, uh… we went off-roading,” BLHG said with a nervous laugh.
“You what!?” The Coach turned to look at the car again, trying to double check there really is no damage to it. It is a rental after all, and he seriously doubted that Invisibill and BLHG had the money to pay for it if the vehicle was damaged.
“Well hey, we didn’t break anything… somehow-“ Invisibill started before the group all broke into a mini argument over what really happened. The Coach winced from the noise, and instinctively turned to lean more against Whammer’s chest.
After a moment of the Coach beginning to feel overwhelmed again, he felt the sensation of the Whammer’s hand on his back. Something about it was way too gentle for the Whammer of all people. While his hand was still heavy, the feeling felt more like a weighted blanket wrapped around the Coach, rather than the suffocating hug or violent pat he was used to. The Coach’s stress turned into more of a confusion, and he looked up at the Whammer’s face, which was giving him a look of pure pity.
“Whammer wants to know, what scared Coach so badly in the first place?” The Whammer asked. His voice still held its usually forcefulness, but something about his tone suggested that he was trying his best to not freak the Coach out further.
“U-uh..” the Coach breathed out. He was having trouble thinking. He doesn’t want to be here right now, and his muddled mind couldn’t focus with the loud commotion going on very close to him.
“Oh for crying out loud! Can’t you all see you’re startling him!?” Ms Question’s voice suddenly cut through the rest of the noise, and everyone shut up and looked back over to the Coach. “What were you saying Whammer?” Ms Question asked in a quieter voice.
There was a long pause. “I-… I-I’m sorry, I really shouldn’t be here” The Coach finally spoke up, looking more at the ground.
“W-what? No, what makes you say that?” Big Left Hand Guy questioned, visibly caught off guard.
“Really, I shouldn’t.. I should've told the Whammer as much when he told me about this trip.” Coach insisted. The Whammer raised his eyebrows in response.
“Did Whammer do something…?”
“NO! No! Nononono- you’ve done nothing wrong!” The Coach quickly clarified before letting out a deep sigh. “It’s.. it’s all me, I’m way too busy and behind on everything. Being here is just making it all worse.”
“Busy with what?” Timmy asked.
“Fucking everything!” He abruptly got much more frustrated, startling the others.
“First of all, I’m broke, and several hundred dollars in debt that I have no idea how to make up. Then I have to deal with my taxes and bills, and my landlord is such a jerk about it, as if I’m willingly trying to be broke. Like- NO you dimwitted prick, I’m not! Then I have to deal with the planning and logistics of the Villain School, which people assume is such an easy thing to plan out but no! No it’s not!” The Coach could see the discomfort on both Glen and Captain Tangent’s faces at the mention of the Villain School, but that didn’t stop him from continuing his frustrated rant.
“I never learn my lesson. I keep ignoring everything and procrastinating, and it keeps messing me up. Literally everything I do either feels horrible or like a massive waste of time, even if it’s just sitting down for a minute! And I’m so tired all the time, I can hardly stay awake! You all know that, you all come to my house and see me half awake, do you think I’m proud of that!?” During most of his ranting, the Coach had been staring off into the woods, but at this sentence he snapped his attention to the group. His overall disheveled look made him look as if he were on the cusp of going mad. Invisibill opened his mouth, clearly about to say something in reply, but quickly closed it when Glen gave him a look.
“I’m a mess. I just keep telling myself, lying to myself, that magically everything is going to be ok. It can’t be ok until I get myself together, but that takes so much energy and time and mental strength that I just… I don’t have it. I’m not given it! I need it so desperately, I need the relief so desperately, but I’m not given it! People won’t give it to me! I keep being asked to do things, begged to come meander with them in whatever little random trips and events they go to and- and I- I just can’t say no.” There was a collective cringe in the group as the Coach’s complaints were beginning to sound familiar to them.
“If I say no, I’m some grumpy buzzkill asshole who’s clearly only thinking about himself, right!? I don’t want to be that. I’m not trying to be some massive jerk to everyone around me. I’m sorry I ever came off that way in any circumstance but I’m just… I’m so tired” The Coach covered his face with his hands. “Under any other circumstance.. I would’ve loved to come on this trip, really. But I'm just. So. Fucking. Tired. Of my work, of dealing with money, of people, good GOD am I tired of people!”
There was a bit of a pause as the Coach sucked in a shaky breath, trying to compose himself.
“It’s no excuse… nothing I’ve said is an excuse for any way I’ve acted or anything I’ve done but.. a-again, I’m just sorry.”
He couldn’t find the strength to look at anyone. He thought that finally being able to vent his feelings would be a relief, but it wasn't. Instead, He felt like the human equivalent of manure; just complete and utter crap. No one spoke for a long time, which didn’t help the self hatred that was attacking the Coach at all angles. He wanted to sink into the ground and disappear.
“How.. how long have you been.. dealing with all of that?” Someone asked. The Coach didn’t have the will to look up and check who said it.
“Maybe.. three years? Give or take.” replied The Coach. His tone sounded more embarrassed then anything.
There was another long, uncomfortable pause.
“You’ve been dealing with feeling like that alone for three years!?” While whoever said it sounded incredibly concerned, the Coach still shrank back in shame. He nodded, face burning up. Nervously, he lifted his head up to look at everyone once again. They all looked various levels of mortified.
The Coach rubbed his eyes, fighting off both the urge to just give up and pass out, and the urge to just start crying. He imagined he looked terrible right now. He felt terrible. He was snapped out of his brief moment of reflection by the feeling of the Whammer gently wrapping his arms around the Coach’s waist. The Coach had somehow forgotten Whammer was there during his rant.
The silence was getting too much. The Coach began mustering the courage to tell everyone that they should get back in the car and that they all should forget the whole thing happened, but someone spoke up before he could.
“Teach.. why didn’t you say something?” Big Left Hand Guy questioned softly. “W-well, you said why you didn’t, but.. why did you think we would be upset if you said you couldn’t join us for something?”
The Coach shrugged. “I dunno, cause I’m an asshole?” He answered. His self deprecating language came out so casually, as if he were used to talking and thinking so.
BLHG looked caught off guard. “W-we don’t think that!” Invisibill continued for him.
“Yes you do.” The Coach snapped back without a beat of pause. He furrowed his brows, stubbornly refusing to believe that people don’t hate him.
“No we don’t! What makes you think that!?” Invisibill desperately retorted.
Coach looked down again. Maybe he was just too tired, but he couldn’t force himself to think up a response. But they knew. He could tell they knew. All the times he was hard on them, and in return they’d talk shit about him when they thought he wasn’t listening. For a moment or two, they all mumbled to each other. Then, out of everyone in the group, it was Timmy who stepped forward.
“Dude, I get it. We kinda suck, both at being villains, and at being good people to you, but we really don’t mean it. You’re like- the teacher and stuff. Isn’t it like typical for students to clash with their teachers?” While it was hard to tell from Timmy’s tone, it sounded like he was trying his best to reason with the Coach’s mentality.
Glen stepped next to Timmy, cutting him off from saying anything else. “What he’s trying to say is we weren’t trying to be jerks to you on purpose. We get you’re just… doing your job… and we’re sorry we drag you into so much and stress you out.”
“Do we really bother you that much?” Ms Question asked gently.
The Coach hesitated before closing his eyes and nodding. He felt horrible for suggesting it, but yeah. They all get annoying. His worries were not eased by the small glance the group shared with each other.
“Well, hey.” Invisibill said, breaking the silence. “We’re sorry. And we.. promise to not ask so much of you. We all kinda… forgot how much of a person you are, a-and we know it’s really bad. We won’t do that, we can give you space. Any space you need… you did the same for us.. you did the same for Invisibill.” Invisibill nervously trailed off, an anxious smile crossing his face.
The Coach opened his eyes and stared at Invisibill in utter disbelief. “Why.. why would you do that?”
“Didn’t you say you need space? Don’t you think you deserve space?” Ms Question responded for Invisibill.
“W-well, I don’t know about deserve, I-“
“You do!” Glen interrupted. “Really, no offense, but you look fucking exhausted right now! We can happily switch some seating stuff, or just leave you alone the whole trip. We want you here, yeah, but we also want you to be ok! If being here is not making you feel ok, we can compromise. You can.. stay in the hotel room and work or something- whatever you need to do!”
There was a pause as The Coach starred in stunned silence. “You… you all want me here..?” He finally asked softly.
“Of course! We wouldn’t have invited you otherwise. Like Glen said, we all want you here with us.” Big Left Hand Guy responded, a small smile on his face.
There was another long pause as the Coach’s muddled mind tried to comprehend what he’d just been told. The phrase, ‘we want you here,’ took a moment to finally click, and when it did, it clicked fully. All the times they had called or invited him to hang out, all of the little gifts and offers they had made, all of the small nicknames and jokes… they weren’t trying to slow him down. They weren’t trying to hurt him. They were trying to keep him included. They want him around.
He is wanted. He is cared about.
All of the previously fading energy rushed right back into the Coach, and he felt his chest and throat get tighter with emotion. His eyes became flooded with tears, blurring his sight.
“O-oh my god, y-you people care about me-“ was all he managed to get out before literal months of pent up stress and emotions came crashing into him with the force of a freight train. He fully broke down into loud, uncontrollable sobbing, large tears streaming down his face. Instinctively, he tried covering his face with his hands, hiding in shame, but the Whammer pulled him for a full hug before he could do so.
At that point, shame was the last thing on this poor man’s mind, and he gratefully reciprocated the hug from the larger villain, burying his face into the Whammer’s shoulder. The world around the Coach seemed to turn off, and all he could focus on was finally being able to just cry and enjoy the much needed hug.
Maybe it was his newly found lack of awareness for his surroundings, but the Coach was only mildly startled at the feeling of extra hands and arms joining the hug. Someone’s hand even made its way to the Coach’s hair, rubbing his head gently. The Coach couldn’t care less. Typically this would be overwhelming, but now he was reveling in the physical affection, just because he had been so deprived of it.
That’s what he was: deprived. He had been so deprived of being allowed to feel and receive affection, that he was melting over the feeling of a group hug. He had been so deprived of a break that he hadn’t even properly cried for maybe months at this point.
No one said anything as the Coach cried for several minutes. Eventually, he slowly began to calm down from his meltdown, devolving into quieter sniffling. He still felt very tired, but now his exhaustion came more from relief rather than stress. Part of him really wanted to just succumb to the sleepiness and finally get some sleep, but he decided to keep himself awake for the time being.
“S-sorry..” The Coach sniffled, wiping part of his face off.
“Don’t apologize.” Big Left Hand Guy replied softly. He had been the one who was rubbing the Coach’s head, using his smaller right hand. Gently, he let the Coach’s hair go. Everyone else backed off a bit as well, except for the Whammer, who still held onto the Coach.
“Wanna rearrange the seating like I suggested?” Glen asked.
Coach thought for a moment before nodding. “Yeah, I.. I-i really shouldn’t be driving” he replied, voice cracking. Considering the fact he nearly crashed the car beforehand, it’d probably be the best decision.
“What if I drove?” Ms Question quickly responded.
“Sure- uh, that works. I.. I think I need a nap to be completely honest” Coach admitted with an exhausted chuckle. His head really hurt, caused by a combination of sleep deprivation and the stinging in his eyes from going so long without crying.
“Great, let’s get ourselves resituated!” Big Left Hand Guy said as he stood up.
“Seat switch! Yayyy!” Invisibill cheered, trying to bring a more positive light to the moment. Coach smiled in amusement at the gesture. Everyone else followed suit once again and started heading back to the car, except for The Whammer and Timmy Tim-Bo. The latter stared at Coach for a moment, with Coach staring back in confusion. After a long pause, Timmy reached towards his neck and undid the knot that held his ‘cape,’ which was really just a mint green blanket. He bent down and wrapped the blanket around the Coach’s shoulders before standing back up.
Coach felt the blanket. It was old, dirty, and smelled like weed, but it was also soft and warm from Timmy’s body heat. “..Thank you.” Coach said softly, looking up at Timmy. Timmy flashed him a small smile before turning and walking to the car.
Coach let out a sigh, mentally preparing himself for having to stand up and walk to the car himself. Before he could do so, the Whammer stood up, picking the Coach up off the ground. Coach let out a surprised yelp, going tense before he fully realized what was happening. “Oh- uh- Whammer, it’s ok, I can walk by myself.” Coach paused when he properly looked at the Whammer’s face. He looked upset. “What’s wrong?” The Coach questioned softly.
“Whammer… Whammer knows that Coach said he didn’t do anything wrong, but Whammer still feels bad. Whammer really did want Coach to come along, b-but Whammer saw how Coach was acting off when Whammer came to tell him about the trip, a-and Whammer didn’t say anything but he should’ve and now…” Whammer trailed off.
The Coach’s expression softened. “Hey, listen, it’s not your fault. You didn’t know, you just wanted me to be included. You didn’t know what I had going on, and I truly do appreciate you inviting me. I can.. try to find time in the trip to enjoy the park with you all. How’s that sound?”
Whammer sighed. “No, you don’t need to do that for the Whammer. Whammer understands the Coach is busy. Whammer just wanted to say sorry..” Whammer paused, looking at the Coach’s face more. “…did Whammer do that..?” He questioned, pointing at the healing cut from when the Coach cut himself with the scissors.
“Technically, I did that to myself. It’s not like you stabbed me or anything. Relax buddy, you’re fine.” Coach replied with a small smile. “Now come on, let’s get back in the car. I’ll be fine.”
The Whammer took a moment before he smiled back and nodded. Rather than put the Coach down, the Whammer continued to carry him over to the car. He opened the car door, and gently put the Coach down in the shotgun seat, even buckling the Coach’s seat belt. “Oh- thanks.” The Coach replied blankly. Whammer gave him a thumbs up before closing the door.
Not much was said as Ms Question turned on the car and carefully drove them out of the woods and back onto the road. Eventually, conversation naturally started back up, but it was less painful to deal with then before. At one point, Ms Question leaned over towards the Coach. “Since Glen’s lost music privileges, would you like to choose something?” She asked.
“..you know what, sure.” Coach replied. He reached over and messed with the radio until he found a random classic rock station playing a song he was familiar with. Silently, he worried if the group would approve of the music. His worries were disapperated however when Whammer cut through the current conversation by excitedly shouting “Oh yeah! Whammer wham’s this song!” This got an amused chuckle out of the Coach.
Now that Coach has more control over the current situation, everything seems much more relaxed. It wasn’t loud, it wasn’t overwhelming, even the traffic seemed to let up, leading to much smoother driving. The Coach wasn’t even bothered by Ms Question’s driving, despite him typically being annoyed with the way most people drove when he was the passenger.
Of course, not everything was perfect. Not everything was fixed. The Coach would still have to figure out a way to finish all his work on time during this trip, and he was still exhausted as all hell. Painfully so.
But you know what? For now, it’s fine.
Ten minutes passed, and Ms Question tried asking the Coach another question, but was met with silence. “Coach?” She asked, turning to look over at him when she could. The Coach had his head leaned against the window, eye closed, mouth slightly open, and quietly snoring. Ms Question smiled softly, deciding to save her question for later, as she turned her attention back to the road.