More Trouble Than it's Worth

Chapter 5

A/N: All I ask is that you don't murder me for making the last part so utterly terrible. Hahaha. I hate it and everything about it. Especially the slipshod ending I threw together in 3 seconds because I couldn't actually find a good way to end the story.

FIRST PERSON TO GUESS THE CAMEOS GETS A BUJEET DRABBLE REQUEST. Caitlin, Matt, and Maggie don't count because they already know who they are. Especially Caitlin. 8|

Well, enjoy the last part anyway!

In a matter of seconds, the two males were engaging in an all-out brawl on the marble floor, attracting attention of basically everyone in the ballroom. Screaming and yelling at one another as they rolled around, Buford and Brendan assaulted each other as harshly and as violently as they possibly could while trying to maintain an upper hand on the situation. Hair was pulled, skin was bit, fists were thrown, feet were kicked, limbs were wrestled. Only two minutes had gone by, and Buford had already taken a bloodied lip, and several bruises were sure to pop up on his belly later that night. Brendan, on the other hand, was spewing blood from a broken nose, one eye was watering from being punched, and one hand was occupied with keeping his testicles safe from any further attack.

Both boys had gone deaf in their blind rage.

The sounds of their peers whooping and screeching were drowned out by the blood pumping in their ears and their sharpened focus on beating the other being into a pulp.

Baljeet pushed through the crowd of students, yelling for everyone to get out of his way. Reaching the inner edge of the circle that'd formed around the confrontation, he paused to gaze upon the sight before him.

Buford was just receiving a blow to the back of his knee, successfully crumpling him back to the ground and allowing Brendan to attempt to pin the equally massive teen. He was returned with an elbow to the gut, followed by being thrown off to the side towards an onlooker. Buford quickly rolled onto his back and moved to pursue the other male.

"Buford, STOP!" Baljeet yelled ineffectively over the crowd. He was jostled around in the excitement, and he had to plow through a couple of other kids before stumbling into the circle. He quickly fisted up a handful of Buford's shirt and began tugging. "Stop it!"

On instinct, Buford shoved the scrawny, weaker boy away like a rag doll, failing to notice who it was he'd thrown to the floor. When Baljeet hit the marble he cried out in surprise more than pain, but the noise was just enough to bring Buford out of his fury. The brunette whirled to look at where the poor teen was pushing himself into a sitting position, and a horrified look crossed his face.

Shit!

He moved to go help, but stopped when a look of sheer terror appeared on Baljeet's face. Some of the onlookers immediately began screaming unintelligibly about the cops.

"Buford!" The Indian cried, flinging a pointing finger to a place over the pale teen's shoulder.

Buford spun back around, and nearly came face to face with a switch blade. Despite his heart leaping into his throat, he quickly ducked out of the way and moved to trip Brendan, but only succeeded in making him stumble slightly, not to mention more angry.

"You-" Brendan began, lunging to jab the glinting blade at his opponent. "Will NEVER-" Jab. Jab. Buford was haphazardly stumbling away from each thrust, his emerald eyes trained on the blade and his head on the circle of students around him. "Insult me-" Slash. Jab. Buford had nearly scooted around the whole circle. "AGAIN!"

Brendan crossed the circle as quickly as his heavy limbs would let him, which wasn't necessarily very fast, and Buford easily dodged. The uglier male, thrown off guard, stumbled, and the swing of his arm recalculated to help him keep balance.

… Right as Baljeet was standing.

In a flash, Baljeet found himself pulled tightly into a familiar plush chest, and his ears were filled with the heart-wrenching noise of his best friend involuntarily howling in pain. Most of the Junior class was now scrambling noisily (screaming, yelling, stomping, among other ways of making noise), and the Disc Jockey had halted his tracks. The teachers and chaperones had finally busted through the crowd and began wrestling Brendan, who was still trying to cut the pair of boys as he was dragged away from them.

Buford, still clinging tightly to Baljeet, breathed heavily through clenched teeth, creating a painful hissing. His knees were wobbling, but it was clear that he would never allow himself to lose his footing.

"Buford!"

Doing his best to peek out from around the massive body in front of him, confused as ever, Baljeet spotted a very worried group of familiar faces come running up. As they approached, Isabella visibly paled at the sight of her friend and Phineas and Ferb each moved to either side of them.

"Buford, you need to sit down," Phineas urged, pressing one hand into Buford's shoulder blade.

"What is going on?" Baljeet asked, his heart aching with confusion and fear. "What happened? First I am getting up, and then-"

"You need to relax," Ferb spoke over his brainiac friend, moving to unlatch Buford's arms from Baljeet's waist.

Phineas cursed under his breath from behind the other shoulder, and Baljeet could feel them sway as Buford was pushed on. "Isabella; quick! Give me something!"

"I'm on it!" Isabella snapped, quickly switching into Fireside Girl mode and rushing off.

"Buford, he's alright, you need to let him go before you squeeze him to death," Ferb continued to speak calmly, finally prying the big guy's arms off the smaller male. Baljeet wiggled from his hold, but quickly found Buford's hand wrapped around his wrist.

"Where's Brendan?" Buford finally huffed, glancing behind him at Phineas.

"The teachers have him. The cops will be here any time," the ginger replied, grabbing the wet cloth Isabella had returned with. He quickly removed his hands and replaced them with the fabric. "Here, sit down."

Buford, and by extension, Baljeet, were guided down into a nearby chair, where Buford slumped over and began running his thumbs across the back of Baljeet's hand.

Sirens were heard approaching outside.

Phineas looked up, then turned to the others. "I'm going to go talk to the cops. Isabella, take over."

The Volcano Scout saluted her boyfriend, then moved to take Phineas's place pressing on the cloth.

As he ran off, Baljeet noticed that Phineas's hands were absolutely drenched in blood.

In a panic, Baljeet rushed around to Isabella's side. He could almost feel the heat drain out of his face as he set his eyes on the nearly fully stained napkin being pressed against a gushing wound much longer than it. He had to avert his eyes; the sight of so much blood spilling from Buford's back causing him immediate nausea. Suddenly feeling quite weak, he trembled his way into a kneeling position in front of the brunette.

Buford exhaled hotly out his nose, and refused to look him in the face.

"He had a knife," he stated plainly, wincing when Isabella upped the pressure.

"But you were nowhere near him!" Baljeet retorted, his voice cracking. He grabbed a hold of Buford's other hand and squeezed, trying to comfort himself more than Buford.

"He was falling towards you; I wasn't about to let some other jerk-ass cause you bodily harm," Buford grumbled, a light blush dusting his cheeks.

The fire sirens pulling up out front didn't phase their conversation one bit.

"Isabella, I'm getting a little dizzy," Buford added quietly, glancing back at the nicely-dressed girl repositioning the cloth on his wound.

"You've lost a lot of blood," The half-Hispanic teen responded, a gentle tone on her lips. "But it sounds like the firemen are here now, so just hold on a bit longer, okay?"

"Yeah, alright." The bully stared blankly towards his and Baljeet's hands, his eyes unfocused as his vision swam. He absently threaded his large fingers with the Indian's skinnier ones, and silently pulled the other boy forward to rest his lips on Baljeet's forehead.

Baljeet closed his eyes.

Not a moment later, two fire paramedics hurried in the front doors and over to the group of four teenagers sitting at the edge of the dance floor. Ferb backed off, and Isabella turned her head to face them. She relinquished her place to a smaller-built fireman, who removed the cloth from the wound.

"Back up," the other fireman ordered, gently urging Baljeet away with a hand. Reluctant to let go, the Indian boy scooted away, but kept the fingers of his left hand linked with the fingers of Buford's right.

"William, I can't get a good view of the abrasion," the smaller fireman spoke up after poking around the gash through the layers of clothing. He moved to speak to Buford. "Son, can you help us get your jacket off?"

Buford blinked a bit, but nodded and began to help William in the removal of his suit jacket. Taking extreme care with his left shoulder blade, the two firemen and the brunette pulled off the jacket and the dress shirt, leaving Buford shirtless. Baljeet took them, set them aside, and relaced his fingers with the other boy. He bit his lips, noticing the bruises forming upon Buford's torso.

"Ulrich, get the antiseptic and the gauze," William snapped, moving to look at the still oozing wound. The smaller paramedic urgently dug through a bag they'd dropped on the floor, and pulled out the necessary items in just a few seconds. He passed them off to William, who poured antiseptic on a thick pad and began to wipe the blood from around the now slightly oozing opening.

"Quick thinking, ma'am," Ulrich said, nodding to Isabella. "If hadn't put so much pressure on that, he'd probably have bled a lot more than he did."

"Well, I'm a Volcano Scout," Isabella replied matter-of-factly, a smile on her lips. "And Volcano Scouts are always ready to leap into action."

"Lucky for you, having her as a friend," William added to Buford, who tried to smile through the stinging of the antiseptic. After one final swipe with the cloth, he peered into the laceration. He pinched around it a moment, then hummed. "Well, it looks like a pretty clean cut; the blade must have been very sharp. Unfortunately, it also looks pretty deep, and the angle at which it was cut has left it hard to close up on its own. We're going to have to stitch it." William stood and handed off the gauze to Ulrich. "The bleeding has stopped, so clean out the wound while I prepare the stitches."

Buford grumbled under his breath. Stitches. Awesome.

Saline and soap were applied to the open gash, then it was blotted dry and checked for any more bleeding. Upon finding none, Ulrich administered a local anesthetic, and William hovered behind the bulky teenager as he prepared dissolvable sutures. Once it was confirmed that Buford's shoulder was numb, the stitching process began.

The whole length of the slice took 18 stitches to close completely. Despite the numbness, Buford spent the whole time squeezing Baljeet's hand, and was asked multiple times by the thin boy to loosen his grip before he cut off the circulation to his hands. About halfway through, a police officer came in and tried to ask questions, but because Buford was tense and slightly light-headed, he was loudly refusing to answer. Having given up, the officer requested to see Buford outside after the operation was complete. Once the last stitch was finished, the paramedics applied some more antiseptic, and dressed the wound properly. Buford pulled on his bloodied dress shirt, despite Baljeet's protests that it was "icky" and "unsuitable for wearing", then cautiously stood from his chair. They left the fire paramedics to clean up, heading outside to give their statements to the police. By the time they'd reached the front doors, Buford had physically refused his friend's attempts to help him through the lingering dizziness. After insisting he'd be fine, Isabella and Ferb took off to find Phineas, and Baljeet ducked back inside to request cotton and antiseptic from the firemen.

Buford was immediately approached by an African-American, plain-clothes officer, who flashed his special unit badge to the uniformed officers keeping citizens out of the scene.

"Goddammit kid, I thought you said I was never going to have to see you again while on duty," he snarked, motioning towards the open backseat of a nearby police car.

"Nice to see you too, Detective Tutuola," Buford drawled, plopping himself down sideways on the leather seat. The man scoffed and leaned against the door.

"Man, the fuck is wrong with you? Didn't I tell you to stop picking fights?" he scolded, crossing his arms.

"Hey now, he threw the first punch," Buford corrected, frowning. "I didn't do nothin' but tell him what is clearly the truth."

Tutuola rolled his eyes. "So you bated the bastard into attacking you first, so your side would be considered self defense."

The bully grinned. "Man you know me so well."

"I wish I didn't." the detective responded dryly. "So what'd this guy do to you? Make some snarky-ass comment or challenge your honor? Or was it something as equally stupid?"

Buford grumbled, glancing around the toned man just in time to spot Baljeet scurrying out with a clear bottle and a rag. He almost immediately felt his mood brighten.

When the teenager didn't answer, the detective frowned. He was about to ask again when a twiggy Indian boy hurried up and began rambling.

"I am telling you now that any protesting you wish to do against me tending to your minor wounds will go completely ignored," Baljeet began as he uncapped the bottle. "You will sit there and let me do this without any complaints, understand?"

The detective blinked when Buford nodded.

Baljeet moved to begin applying the clear antiseptic, but was stopped by one of Buford's hands.

"On one condition," the bully purred mischievously, reaching around his nerd's waist with his right arm. He nimbly pulled Baljeet down onto his lap, and was rewarded with a startled "eep!"

"Buford!" Baljeet cried, his cheeks lighting a bright red as he was forced to straddle the teen's bulky thighs. "We-we are-!" He glanced at the Detective nervously.

"Detective, this is Baljeet," Buford introduced, locking his fingers together on the small of said male's back. "Baljeet, this is Detective Fin Tutuola."

"P-pleasure…" Baljeet mumbled embarrassedly, recoiling into himself a little at the ethnic man's stern features.

"Likewise," Fin responded professionally, a strange look on his face as he eyed the two. "You gunna tell me what this kid did to you, or am I going to sit here and continue wasting my time on your punk antics?"

Buford rolled his eyes, then reached up with one hand to grab Baljeet's chin. Baljeet, who was pouring antiseptic onto the cloth, squawked in surprise and nearly spilled the liquid.

"See this?" Buford asked the detective, turning his nerd's face towards the man before pointing at his black eye. "That 'kid', Brendan, gave it to him earlier this week."

Fin raised his brow. "…. And?"

"And, 'Jeet is my nerd," the brunette stated matter-of-factly, releasing his affection's face. "No one touches him 'cept me." He linked his arms behind Baljeet again. "Only I can tease him, bully him, push him around, make fun of him, run his underwear up a flagpole, yadda yadda." Fin moved to respond, but was cut off. "And that's because we both know I would never actually hurt him on purpose."

Baljeet somehow blushed harder, and tried to ignore it as he dabbed at a small cut on Buford's forehead.

"Why him?" the man asked, tilting his head to punctuate his confusion. "Kids at your school get beat up all the time, and we all know you're not usually some straight-laced vigilante."

Buford smiled softly, his features relaxing as he eyed the dark-skinned teen on his lap with an uncharacteristic tenderness.

"Because…" he started, leaning down slightly to plant a light kiss on Baljeet's forehead. "I care about 'im too much."

Baljeet's heart skipped. Oh, my…

The corner of Fin's mouth twitched in amusement. "The cops said he pulled a blade on you, and you were getting treated for a wound he inflicted. Lemme guess," he pushed off from the door and let out an exasperated sigh. "His bitch-ass looked like it was gonna get shanked, so you stupidly jumped in the way and take a blow that probably wasn't going to hit him in the first place."

Buford smirked. "Sounds 'bout right."

The detective rolled his eyes sarcastically. "Congratulations."

The bully pulled Baljeet closer, savored the mindless, self-conscious mumbling he got in response, and buried his nose into the other boy's black curls.

"Eh, it was worth it."

In the weeks to come, Buford and Baljeet ended up receiving more praise for their change of relationship status than hate. Then again, Buford had also proven that while he might be dating another boy, he was still the absolute last person you'd ever want to upset. So when people weren't smiling and giggling good-heartedly at the two as they walked down the hall hand-in-hand, people were recoiling in fear that if they even showed any kind of possible dislike, they'd get the shit beaten out of them. No one messed with Baljeet, and some even sucked up to him just to get on Buford's good side.

Brendan Flannery was accused of Assault in the Second Degree, and more than a dozen eye-witnesses volunteered to take the stand and speak against him and his character in court. He was found guilty, and was sent to a Juvenile Detention Center the next state over.

And then—Oh, there you are, Perry!