AN: I have no idea why I just wrote this… probably the lack of cookies and sunshine. Note that I'm completely disregarding time here, I know that a teen Leon would probably exist in the beginning of the 90's, but this isn't meant to be serious. If it was, I would need to check into a mental hospital pronto.


Mrs. Kennedy sighed deeply and turned up the volume on the TV. Dr Phil's voice filled the room, so loud it made the walls tremble, although not loud enough to drown the voices of a frantic teenager and his purple-faced father.

"I won't do it, dad!" Leon yelled. "I refuse!"

"You bet your ass you will!" Mr. Kennedy shouted back, his eyes sticking dangerously out of their sockets, nearly touching his glasses. "I will not stand one more day of you going around, looking like one of those longhaired, pot-smoking, free-sex-practicing, now nearly extinct people from the seventies whom I can't remember the name of, but I know that I hate them, I hate them so MUCH and they should all be obliterated from the face of the Earth!"

"Nonsense! My hair ain't that long and I won't even touch cigarettes!"

"Which you shouldn't! You're not old enough to destroy your lungs until you're eighteen! No matter! You're still getting a haircut!"

"No, I'm not!"

"Yes, you are!"

"No, I'm not!"

"Yes, you are!"

"No, I'm not!"

"No, you're not!"

"Yes, I am!"

"Great! Here's fifty bucks, now get out!"

"Dammit!"

Leon turned on his heel in anger and flared his nostrils as widely as humanly possible, yes, even more so. An evil strand of fur from their house cat, Billybobjoe, immediately seized the opportunity, detached itself from Billybobjoe's skin and darted up Leon's nostril, sending him into a violent sneezing fit that made him slam his head into the wall and fall like a sack of mashed potatoes to the floor. He woke up ten minutes later, with his mouth open and half of his face caked in saliva. Billybobjoe strutted up to Leon, demanding his attention whereas Leon started screaming something about the Spawn of Satan before fleeing out the front door. Then he remembered he was still angry and slammed the door shut behind him. Somehow the slam didn't justify his anger and he slammed the door again. It made his aunt's latest Christmas present fall off the shelf and the sound of it getting brutally crushed at the linoleum floor satisfied him. Leon walked across the street, contemplating on having his father's vinyl collection getting accidentally splintered to pieces with a sledgehammer. Upon seeing a pool of mud, Leon got what he thought was a brilliant idea. He shot his hands into the pool, swiftly pulled them up and frantically rubbed mud into his hair. He rubbed some into his face too, just to be sure. With a victorious laughter, he skipped down the road and thought about other ways to get back at his hairdresser, other than forcing her to cut dirty hair. A riot outside a movie theatre caught his attention. It looked as though at least a hundred Star Trek fans and Star Wars fans had waged war against each other, it was a chaotic horde of plastic lightsabers™, pistols made by old IKEA-cardboard boxes, cloaks, unholy tight spandex suits and weird eyebrows. There was a small gang of stormtroopers standing near the battle, led by a guy who was surprisingly accurately cosplaying Darth Vader™.

"Meet your fate, treacherous Trekkers!" He yelled and shook his fist in the direction of a Kirk-clone who was tackled by Chewbacca™ a second later. Leon grinned and walked up to him.

"Yo!" he greeted cheerfully. "Wow, your costume is great! And your voice sounds just like Darth's!"

Darth Vader shifted on his feet. "Uh… yeah… costume…" he shook his head and handed Leon a baseball bat. "We're having a war here, boy! Go and take out some Trek-scum!"

Leon shrugged. He was quite a Trekker himself, but heck. With a wild grin plastered on his face, he lifted his bat and ran up to an unsuspecting Mr. Data™.


"Finally! Wal-Mart!"

Leon sighed, placed his hands on his hips and gazed over the large compound with a smirk on his lips, almost like he owned the place. Which he, in his mind, did. After having taken some punches and given some punches in the war against Star Trek, Darth Vader had pulled Leon to the side and in all seriousness told him what a healthy and handsome lad he was and asked if he would mind donating some DNA to a classified project they were working on. Leon had no idea what "dienay" was, but it was probably expensive, so he wanted to keep it to himself. He had then proceeded to run away from Darth and to the hair salon on the other side of the city. After realizing the hair salon was for dogs (and failing to bribe the employees to make an exception for him), he decided to try Wal-Mart instead. Leon took a step forward to cross the street, but was stopped by a man's voice shouting;

"Oi! Boy!"

Leon turned his head. The voice belonged to one of the two police officers leaning against their car. Leon walked up to them with an eyebrow raised.

"Don't cross the street without looking both ways first," the officer said sternly.

"I won't," Leon answered.

"Don't accept candy from strangers."

"I won't."

"Do your homework."

"I will."

"Don't do drugs."

"I won't."

"Don't have unprotected sex with hookers while riding the merry-go-round in the creepy, abandoned amusement park on the other side of the lake."

"Uh… I won't do that."

"Great, my job here is done," the officer said with satisfaction in his voice and grinned to the other officer.

"What is it like to be in the force?" Leon asked and stuffed his hands into his pockets.

"Oh, it's great," the officer exclaimed. "All you ever do is sit on your fat ass all day, eat doughnuts, capture criminals and tell people what to do. You'll never encounter any criminal with an IQ above 85, you get a fat paycheck every month, people will always respect you wherever you go and you'll never, ever get caught in a supernatural situation that will nearly claim your life again and again on your first day at the job."

Leon's eyes brightened up. "Really? Awesome!"

With that, he turned on his heel, crossed the street and walked through the entrance to Wal-Mart. The two officers stared after him.

"Should we have told him it's opposite day today?" the other officer asked. The first officer shrugged.

"Meh."


Leon was walking in circles as he made his way through the mall, staring at all the shops in awe. He refused to believe it was possible to squeeze in so many into just one compound. The architects must have broken some laws of physics in the process of building this monster. Leon just hoped that the police of physics wouldn't get informed of the architects' crimes, or they'd get in much trouble. A funny guy with a purple scarf covering his mouth waved Leon to him from behind the window of a nameless shop. Leon's curiosity steered him through the door and he gazed wide-eyed over various articles and finally on the strange man who had called for him. He was wearing a very baggy blue hoody with silver heart stitched on the front.

"Over here, stranger," the clerk said and motioned Leon forward. When Leon had reached the counter, the clerk sucked in a deep breath and roared;

"WELCOME!!"

Both startled and disturbed, Leon stepped back and rubbed his ears. "Uh… thanks."

"I have rare things on sale, stranger," the clerk continued and flung out his arms.

"My name is Leon," Leon corrected.

"Stranger," the clerk insisted.

"Leon."

"Stranger.

"Leon!"

"Stranger!"

"Stranger?"

"Stranger."

"That's my name?" Leon asked wide-eyed. "Wow, my parents must really hate me."

He went to a shelf with random stuff, ranging from women's underwear to fake passports. Leon picked up an old cell phone, that kind that couldn't send MMS or play music or connect to the internet.

This is probably an antiques shop, Leon thought. He moved his attention to what seemed to be a remote holder.

Great. Now I know what to give Mom for her birthday.

Leon stiffened as he felt someone's hot breath on his neck. "Whaddaya buyin'?" the clerk whispered into his ear. With a scream high pitched enough to shatter glass, Leon stormed out of the shop, waving his arms into the air. The clerk sighed.

"My only customer and he ran away," he muttered to himself and folded his arms. "This shop's goin' straight to hell. Or worse; Norway." He shuddered. "There has to be one occupation where I could use my complete disregard of the law and paranormal ability to stalk my customers… ah!" His eyes lightened up. "I know, I know! I'll be a car salesman!"

Leon gasped for air and rested his hands on his knees. His aunt was right all along; never trust people with masks and hoodies saying they have rare things on sale. A sign with a scissor and a fork crossing each other caught Leon's attention. A grin started growing on his lips, showing nearly every one of his teeth as he strutted towards the hair salon and opened the door. The hairdresser met his gaze and stiffened. Her eyes wandered up to his hair, her mouth shaping into a perfect O. Leon snickered and chose a chair to sit into. His reflection snickered too, his hair was spiky, dark and stiff, his face caked in dirt with the exception of a ring mark in his forehead he had gotten whilst fighting the Trekkers. The dazed hairdresser walked up behind him, looking like she was dealing with some psychotic vermin the lazy exterminator forgot to poison to death.

"Uh… can… can I help you, sir?" she asked, her eyebrows vanishing under her bangs.

"Damn straight," Leon answered smugly. "I want you to cut my hair like… like that freak over there," he said and pointed at a poster of a male model. "And don't wash my hair, I'm trying to keep this as cheap as possible. Well, what're you waiting for? Cut away!"

She stared at him for a long, hard moment. Then she raised her finger and poked his shoulder lightly. After having confirmed that yes, he was indeed real, she blinked and walked out of the room. Leon folded his hands behind the back of his head and grinned. This was fun. Heavy footsteps closed in on him, his grin fading away as he met the gaze of an incredibly tall, muscular guy with blonde hair and a fake scar on his left cheek in the mirror.

"So, we have ourselves a troublemaker, eh?" he growled and stretched his fingers. "We'll soon take care of that, won't we?"

In one fluent movement, the blonde guy lifted Leon out of his chair and forced it down a sink. Leon protested and tried to force his way out of the man's grip, but he took no notice of it as he rubbed shampoo into Leon's hair.

"Thanks, Krauser, I don't know what I would have done without you," the female hairdresser said behind them.

"That's what I get paid for, ain't it, Ma?" Krauser answered, while roughly dealing with Leon's poor hair.

"Ouch! It hurts!"

"Suits you well for being a jerk!" Krauser retorted, flung Leon over his shoulder and placed him back into the chair. Krauser tied a plastic bag around Leon's neck and bent over him.

"Alright, kiddo, what do you want?" he grumbled. Leon pulled the bag, not daring to ask what it was good for. Instead, he handed Krauser the note his father had attached to the fifty dollars. Krauser's forehead creased and Leon cringed in shame as he read the note loudly.

"Dear haircutter or whatever. Be brutal with my son and shave his hair off. Show no mercy, for my son is one of the damned longhaired, pot-smoking, free-sex-practicing, now nearly extinct people from the seventies whom I can't remember the name of and God knows how much I hate them. Love, Mr. Kennedy."

Krauser threw the note away with a chuckle.

"Sorry to break it to you, kid, but your father is a retard."

Leon snorted. "I have known for a long time, trust me."

"There is no way I'm going to shave your hair."

"Oh, really?" Leon's face brightened up. "Why not?"

"Because you are a prettyboy. Prettyboys ought to have prettyboy-haircuts."

"… Why?"

"Because it'll be easier for us badboys to recognize a prettyboy and beat the living daylight out of him if he has a prettyboy-haircut."'

"… Oh."

"I have some examples right here," Krauser said and dumped a binder in front of him. Leon managed to get a glimpse of the headline, "Subjects to catch and use for my target practice", before he opened the binder and showed him various pictures of emos and boyband-members. Leon scrutinized the pictures, not being able to choose which one.

"If you ask me, you'd suit that one," Krauser suggested and pointed his trunk-sized index finger at the hairstyle he was referring to. "With that, both badboys and emos, who have nothing else to do but to sniff out posers, have the chance of brutally beating you to a pulp, and then leave you in a pool of your own blood to die."

"Oh," Leon said and shrugged. "Cool."

Krauser swiftly pulled out a scissor and flipped it a few times before attacking Leon with it.

"What's the deal with the fake scar?" Leon asked, while watching lock after lock fall lifelessly to the floor.

"It's for good luck," Krauser answered gruffly.

"What about the fork on the sign?"

"This dump used to be a restaurant, and the new owner is a cheap bastard who thinks it's too expensive to replace the fork too."

"… You're talking about your mother?"

"Damned straight. Now keep your mouth shut and let me do my job."


Mrs. Kennedy was clutching a pillow to her chest, her eyes glued to the TV-screen as she was nodding in agreement with Oprah's words. She cursed inwardly when Mr. Kennedy stepped in front of Oprah and blocked Mrs. Kennedy's view.

"Well, hello there, Mrs. K," Mr. K said and winked. "Could you tear your attention away from the TV?"

"Why? Is the cat on fire?"

"What? No."

"Is the house on fire?"

"No -"

"Is Leon on fire?"

"No! It's just that I'm in a certain mood and, ah… I know you have been a very bad girl, Mrs. K."

She met his spectacled eyes and giggled. "Ooh, Mr. Kennedy, you dirty, dirty boy!"

"Yes, yes I am! Punish me!"

Mrs. Kennedy opened her mouth to answer, but shut it when someone roughly flung the door open and yelled; "Blood-relatives, I'm home!"

Mr. Kennedy moaned. "Great. It's the boy."

"Hey! I heard that!"

Leon stepped into the living room with a wide smile on his face. "Ta-da! What'd ya think?"

Mr. Kennedy's jaw dropped. He eyed Leon up and down; his eyes increasing in size as they rested on his freshly cut hair.

"Excuse me," Mr. K said stiffly and walked almost robotically up the stairs to the bedroom. He closed the door carefully behind him and turned the key. After removing his glasses, he broke down in tears, shook his fist at the ceiling and yelled;

"Why, God? Whyyyy!?"