With his color-coded schedule organized, action figures on display on his shelves, and a track record of straight A's in school, Steve Smith embodied the typical nerdy teenager - except for the fact that his life was anything but ordinary.

His family was a unique blend of personalities and quirks: a controlling father, Stan Smith, whose connections at the C.I.A. were often used to further his own interests; a mother, Francine Smith, who wholeheartedly embraced the chaotic nature of their household; a sister, Hayley and brother-in-law, Jeff, often dubbed as 'hippies' due to their alternative lifestyle choices and occasionally indulged in marijuana.

However, the human side of the family was just the tip of the iceberg. Within the confinement of a fishbowl resided Klaus, the talking fish with a human brain - a result of a bizarre C.I.A. experiment that transplanted his consciousness from a man into a fish. And then there was Roger, the alien living secretly in the Smith family's attic, assuming different personas and genders as he ventured outside, each disguise an eccentric character.

In most moments, Steve took after his mother, adapting to the chaos and sometimes even thriving in it.

"What in the fuck is wrong with all of you!?" Steve's voice reverberated with anger.

This was not one of those moments.

A few weeks back, he had started to notice that his family had been leaving him out of their regular weekly activities. It didn't bother him too much as these adventures usually clashed with his school schedule, and studies took priority for him. However, on this day, things took a turn for the worse. It began with his father startling him awake in the early hours, causing him to leap out of bed and accidentally tumble out of the window resulted in a broken wrist. His father dismissed it as Halloween preparations, even though it was months away.

After making a brief stop at the hospital resulting in a cast for his broken wrist, he found himself running late for school. As he hurriedly made his way to his first class, he unfortunately crossed paths with the bullies who always skip the first class. Turning their attention in his direction, they wasted no time in attacking him. The humiliation continued when he entered the classroom and attempted to correct the teacher, only to be publicly humiliated in front of his classmates.

During lunchtime, he had forgotten that his usual group of friends won't be attending school for another two weeks when he unknowingly sat at their usual table, he was confronted by a group of jocks who subjected him to yet another beating which resulted in his glasses being broken in two.

The day seemed to get worse as he found himself being hoisted up onto the basketball hoop by his underwear during gym class. To his dismay, nobody seemed to care enough to help him down, leaving him to dangle there for hours. Eventually, he managed to free himself, but by then, he had missed the remaining classes and school was already over.

As he trudged his way home, he was suddenly confronted by a mugger who forcefully took his shoes and backpack. To add insult to injury, a sudden storm erupted over the neighborhood, drenching him in rain and leaving him even more miserable than before.

Struggling to muster the last ounces of his fading strength, he pushed his legs to carry him the remaining distance home. The horrid events of the day had drained him, leaving him numb as he neared his house. A faint sense of comfort fluttered within him at the thought of finally reaching the sanctuary of his room.

However, as he pushed open the door, any remnants of relief vanished in an instant. A thick haze of smoke billowed out, assaulting his senses. With a hand clamped firmly over his nose and mouth, he hesitated in the doorway, a sense of dread creeping over him.

In the living room, his family sat in a happy daze with red eyes, surrounded by dozens of opened beer bottles scattered all over the area. The alien remained passed out on the floor in his own feces, with needles injected into his oversized head. Every surface was plastered with a mysterious brown substance, and the most bizarre sight of all was the large plant-like substance, most likely marijuana, placed on the coffee table. The substance was on fire, slowly spreading onto the wooden coffee table, producing a large amount of smoke that filled the room, likely the whole house.

Thinking fast, Steve took a deep breath of fresh air and left the door wide open before rushing inside to open all the windows in the living room. He then hurried to grab the fishbowl, paying no mind to the fish currently occupying it. Witnessing this, Klaus leaped from the fishbowl into his tiny shot glass of water.

"Hey! Watch it!" Klaus yelled, but as soon as he started inhaling the toxic air, his pupils dilated, the whites of his eyes turned red, and a happy daze washed over his face.

Steven then dumped the water onto the flames before they could spread any further. With the windows and doors open and the source of the smoke dying down, the smoke quickly dissipated from the room.

After finally finding himself able to breathe, his anger quickly turned towards his family. In a fit of rage, he began yelling at them.

"What in the fuck is wrong with all of you!?" Steve's voice reverberated with anger.

Jeff chimed in with a serene smile, "We're just trying to align ourselves with the universe."

"Shut the fuck up, Jeff!" Steve snapped back, his voice dripping with frustration. "Your journey to become one with the universe almost burned the house down!"

Hayley jumped to Jeff's defense, "Don't you speak to him like that!"

"I'll talk to him how I want to talk to him!" yelled Steve, before his eye caught the rapidly twitching alien. "And what the fuck happened to Roger!?" His gaze fixated on the alien, who was now convulsing uncontrollably.

Stan, with a mischievous grin, interjected, "Wait, watch this. It's so funny," All eyes turned to the alien as it thrashed about on the floor, eliciting laughter from everyone except Steve.

As Roger suddenly shot upright, screaming incoherently, startling Steve. The alien swiftly grabbed a needle before stabbing it into his head, causing a brown substance to spurt out and stick to nearby surfaces before collapsing once more.

"Oh," Steve stared blankly at the strange substance, now knowing its origin.

The rest of the family found humor in the chaotic scene, chuckling at the alien's antics.

"He's been doing that for an hour," Francine giggled at the expression on Steve's face.

"What the fuck!" Steve, head down, his shadow casting a veil over his face, clenched his wet shirt tightly, the rain still clinging to the fabric. "With the shitty day I've had, who the fuck do you expect to clean this up!?"

Hayley scoffed. "You, of course," she said, as if it were obvious.

Stan chimed in again, "Oh man, look, he's going to cry," before the family erupted into laughter, their amusement directed at Steve.

Steve's body trembled uncontrollably; he bit his lip so hard that blood trickled down his chin before abruptly storming out of the house, paying no heed to the relentless downpour outside.

As he fled, his eyes, not brimming with tears as his family had expected, burned with an intense rage, a fiery heat swelling in his chest. There was only one place he thought to go.

Stan and Francine had been eyeing the house, dreaming of expanding their house. They were all set to make an offer when the realtor shut them down without a second thought. This rejection sparked a feud that turned sour quick. The realtor couldn't unload the property, with potential buyers mysteriously backing out or going missing one after the other. Stan and Francine were even banned from stepping foot on the premises until the new owners give their permission.

Not only did they manage to persuade Roger to help them, but he also ended up getting multiple of his personas banned as well.

Considering the Smith's unwavering determination to purchase the property, the realtor found it necessary to explore alternative strategies to sell the house.

The relentless onslaught of blows continued, each punch and kick adding another crimson hue to the once pristine white surface of the wooden garage door. The storm raged on, the rain lashing against his skin and the wind howling around him, but he remained oblivious to the physical discomfort and growing pain of his still broken wrist. His broken wrist cried out in protest with each impact, but his mind refused to acknowledge the physical agony, drowned out by the overwhelming surge of adrenaline and rage. Oblivious to the tearing of his skin with each punch and kick connecting with the hard wooden gate. All that consumed him was the fiery anger that blazed within, driving him to unleash his pent-up frustration in a flurry of violent motion.

As he poised for another strike, a sudden blow to the back of his head sent him lurching forward, his forehead colliding with the unforgiving surface of the garage door. "What are you doing!?" a voice shouted, barely audible over the downpour.

Rubbing his throbbing forehead, the man turned to face his assailant. Water droplets blurred his glasses, making it difficult to discern the figure before him. Shorter than him, clad in a large yellow raincoat with matching boots, the person's face remained obscured by the hood.

"Who are you?" he stammered, realizing he needed to speak louder to be heard.

"I should be asking you that question!" the figure retorted, hands gripping a broom as if it were a weapon—the very tool used to deliver the blow. "I bought this house yesterday! Who are you!?"

"Oh," he gasped in recognition, "My name's Steve, Steve Smith." His words faltered.

"The Band family!?" the person inquired.

"Well, technically, it's just my mom, dad, and Roger who are band," Steve chuckled nervously, wincing as he attempted to scratch his head, the bruise a painful reminder of either the recent impact or the horrible day he's had.

Upon seeing the flinch, the person stood in silence, finally able to get a clear view of him. Bruises adorned every visible surface of his skin, his glasses foggy and barely held together with tape, while rain had enveloped him from head to toe.

"Are you okay?" the person asked softly, concern evident in their voice.

With slumped shoulders, he turned his gaze towards the garage door. "I don't know," he murmured, barely audible over the sound of raindrops washing away the red color, revealing a subtle dent. Turning back to the person, he offered a sad smile. "Sorry about your door."

"Don't worry about it," they responded with a defeated sigh, setting down the broom against the house. "How about we get out of the rain? The forecast predicted the storm to worsen over the next few days. We can also get you patched up."

Without waiting for his response, they turned and headed inside, holding the door open for him.

In any other circumstance, entering a stranger's house would be advised against, a lesson ingrained in every child for safety; but at that moment, with his body throbbing and the rain's sting intensifying, he glanced back at his dark, unlit house next door. Assuming everyone had retired for the night, he found himself uncaring.

With a heavy sigh, he shuffled into the house, prompting the person to close the door behind them.

🌹~~~~~~~~~~🌹

Thanks for reading

👥Share, ⭐Vote, 🙋😘Comment