A grown-up Calvin story I've had in my head for a while now, a compromise in which Hobbes still exists forever and Calvin isn't crazy. On this account instead of my normal one for blatant use of italics and possible OOC behavior.

Calvin's first thought, as the hallways of his school shifted into the cockpit of a too-small flying saucer, was Fuck.

He stuck his hands on the controls of the ship, working them with an absent-minded muscle memory he hadn't known he had, and concentrated very hard on not being here. He was in school. He had a Physics class to get to. He was walking to Physics class. He had a backpack slung haphazardly from one shoulder, not a ray gun. He was not in outer space, he was not wearing a one piece blue suit and a rectangular pair of goggles, and he certainly was not on his way to crashing onto another unknown planet.

Except that he was.

For God's sake, he thought he'd learned to control this years ago!

Apparently not.

He was seventeen. He should be able to keep his mind firmly in this world by now, at least at school. At home, well... that was a different matter. At home he could still be himself.

But here he had to be able to keep himself under wraps, otherwise teachers would start recommending pills again.

His surroundings flickered, the blackness of space turning into an off-white floating ceiling and a row of lockers, accompanied by the buzz of the bell signifying that he was late for class-again.

And then he was back in space.

"No, no no!" Calvin hissed, slamming his hand against the dashboard. "Not now, not here, dammit!"

He couldn't afford to miss class. He'd skipped a lot of the more boring Physics lessons to hang out in the library and read about dinosaurs, or the more advanced (translation: interesting) physics topics that they hadn't gotten to yet, and probably wouldn't, if his teacher continued to drag things along. If he missed any more, especially on days he was in school, someone would call his parents, and he did not want that. His dad had just told him the other day how proud he was that Calvin was finally learning to behave himself.

And then salvation came from a most unlikely source.

"Hey, Twinky, what're ya talkin' to yourself for?" Moe's voice sliced through the spaceship, pulling Calvin straight back into the real world again.

Normally he'd dread hearing Moe's voice; seeing Moe's 6'4" bulk blocking his path; smelling the hulking cretin, but today Calvin was just glad to be grounded again. Because nothing kept Calvin more fully in the here and now than Moe.

And the physically pain that usually accompanied Moe, but that was a whole different animal.

"Hi, Moe," Calvin said, slipping from relief into resignment - the look on Moe's face meant Calvin was in for a roughing up, if not a few bruises. It was a good thing he'd packed his lunch.

Moe held out a hand. "I forgot my lunch money, weirdo," he said. "Gimme yours."

Calvin, though, was utterly broke. "You can have my lunch," he offered, hoping just the littlest bit that this would work.

It didn't.

Fifteen minutes later, Moe was in class, satisfied that Calvin had been telling the truth and was, in fact, not carrying any money. Calvin, on the other hand, was trying to gather the energy to pick himself up off the floor, wondering yet again why the school security cameras didn't show his locker.

Moe might be dumb in the more traditional sense, but he had learned young where exactly he could hit Calvin and get away with it, both at school and on Calvin's body. Sometimes Calvin would instigate it, just to get things over with. Just so that he could go home feeling like he might deserve this punishment, like he'd gotten in a few good points, even if Moe didn't understand most of Calvin's words.

Today, Calvin had been too shaken up by suddenly ending up in outer space to really make any witty remarks, so he'd gotten away with a replacement bruise on top of the one on his ribs, and a few new ones on his arms and legs. Nowhere that wasn't covered by clothing, though.

He pushed himself up with a groan. That settled it, he was definitely too late for class. He was going to be in so much trouble.

Maybe if he told his parents-

But that would be just as bad.

"Calvin?"

Wonderful. Could this day get any worse?

Pushing himself into a standing position, still leaning against the wall of lockers, Calvin gave Susie the best approximation of an unfriendly smirks that he could, under the circumstances.

It didn't have much effect, and Susie came closer, her eyebrows drawing together as she asked, "Are you okay? You look terrible. Do have a bug or something? You're not going to puke, are you?"

"Fuck off, would you?" Calvin asked. "I'll be fine. Besides, shouldn't you be in class?"

Unperturbed (she was used to Calvin's prickliness, and they were almost friends despite it, most of the time), Susie held up a hall pass and said, "I'm heading to the office. What about you?"

Oh yes, like he was going to tell her the truth.

"Felt a little funny," he said. "Maybe I blacked out or something." Well, it was almost the truth.

Susie's worried look just got more intense and she said, "You should go to the nurse."

No, he should go to the library, hide between the bookshelves until next period, think up a good excuse for his parents, and try to figure out what the fuck had just happened. But this was Susie, and before he knew it she was dragging him off to the office with her, explaining just why passing out was something he should get checked out.

Strangely enough, the people in the office believed Susie. If he'd gone to the office and told them about blacking out, they'd have laughed and told him to get to class before he got in trouble. But Susie's word that he'd been lying on the floor, and the fact that he couldn't stand up straight without his ribs performing mutiny on him, was enough to get him sent to the nurse without question, his absence from class excused.

That was wonderful, but he did not want to go to the nurse's office. Any chance she'd see the bruises would lead to really inconvenient questions. But Susie was in her Mature and Responsible mood, and she walked him two doors down to the nurse, "to make sure he made it safe."

If Hobbes were with him, he'd ask why Calvin didn't just tell his parents what was happening with Moe. The answer was a complicated one. On the one hand, it probably wouldn't help anything. Moe would just find other ways to get back at Calvin, or he'd discredit him. For another thing, though, it was embarrassing. It was bad enough being the youngest (and scrawniest, and least athletic, and among the shortest) of the seniors at school without having to admit that he still got beat up. Regularly.

Though it would be nice if he could tell someone other than a tiger that was as much stuffed animal as real creature.

He sat through the nurse's checkup once Susie was gone, silently begging her not to tell him to roll up his sleeves.

"I need to take your blood pressure," she said.

"Can you do it around my sleeve?" Calvin asked.

She shook her head. "Take off your sweatshirt, please."

Calvin of a decade ago, or even just five years ago, would have run out of the room, shouting something along the lines of "you'll never take me alive!" But Calvin the seventeen-year-old was really honestly trying to act normal, so he shoved his baggy sleeve up to his shoulder, revealing the arm that hurt less.

It was still speckled with bruises, some old enough that they were fading yellow, others brand new and still swollen, not really purple yet.

Calvin noticed with mild interest that he bore a vague resemblance to a giraffe, with the pattern of spots on his skin.

The nurse, on the other hand, gasped, asking, "Where did all these come from?"

Calvin just looked at her. When it became clear that she actually expected an answer, he said, "They're no big deal."

"No big deal-! Dear, how did you get them?"

Calvin shrugged. "They just- I- can't you leave it alone?" he snapped. "I've got a lot of bruises. Maybe I'm just a klutz, okay?"

An aghast look came across the nurse's face and she asked in a hushed voice, "Did one of your parents do this to you?"

"What?" Calvin asked, drawing back and staring at her. Where had that come from? "Of course not! It was-" he stopped himself, remembering that it wouldn't help. He'd told on Moe before. It never helped.

"You realize I have to report all incidents of bullying to the school," the nurse pointed out.

"Shit," Calvin muttered.

"I assume you didn't faint in the halls, then?" the nurse asked.

"No," Calvin snapped. "But telling won't do anything." It would only make it worse. Again.

"Well then," the nurse said. She gave him a sympathetic look that made Calvin want to shout at her, to rage that he could take care of himself. Part of him wanted to be back in a place where he could take care of himself, back in space, where nobody could hurt him, but he could wait.

He could make himself stay in this boring, depressing world until three o'clock.

"You can stay here until the end of the period," the nurse offered.

That wouldn't really help. Moe wasn't smart enough for Physics. Of course, a few years ago, nobody would have thought Calvin was smart enough for it, either. Still, they weren't studying anything interesting, and Calvin got enough weird looks without showing up late to class when he didn't have to.

So he leaned back on the bench and closed his eyes, waiting.