I'm ba-ack! Anyway...sorry for the sorta cliché opener...I couldn't resist. Anyway, this is doubling as a short story for my English class. Joy...but, on a happier note (more so for me...), this is the first story that I have written that is not rated M! Well, written for FanFiction, that is...also, do me a favor and IGNORE the length of the title. I know its horrible. Deal with it! Now, on with the story! After the warnings, that is.
WARNINGS: Heterosexuality (minor, but quite necessary for the plot), violence (involving kneecaps), and a strange creepy figure dressed in black at the end (if anyone watches Pretty Little Liars...think A. I probably didn't do my description justice, but all the same...). Also, if you don't recognize it, odds are, I own it.
"Come on, Gar! You're taking way too long!" My shout echoed throughout the otherwise empty house. I was pacing outside my bathroom, waiting for my best friend to emerge from his shower. Garfield Logan, my best friend since I-have-no-idea-when (a very long time ago), and I were going to the school dance tonight. With dates, of course, Gar wasn't gay, as to my knowledge. I was, but it was a secret. I've told no one. And no matter what my brain says, I don't have any feelings for Gar besides best friend ones. And I do have to keep up appearances, so I have a girlfriend. Gar's parents died when he was little, and he was bounced throughout foster homes before my dad, Bruce Wayne, took him home with him one day as his ward. That was many years ago, and we've been best friends since. My mom died when I was a baby, and I took her last name, Drake, though my dad is still alive with the name Wayne. Yeah...I'm not really sure abut Tim's backstory here, so just bear with me.
"Well, excuse me for trying to look my best!" he retorted from within. I sighed. He was fifteen years old (same as me, but not not as mature as me…), and he had been in the bathroom for almost half an hour already. If he spent five more minutes in there, we'd end up late to the Winter Dance. The bathroom door finally opened, emitting a rush of steam (dramatic exit, I think. Completely unnecessary.). Gar stepped out, and I caught my breath. Gar looked amazing. He was wearing a black tuxedo, his dark brown hair was just washed and combed. His jade green eyes were accentuated by his pale complexion, and he looked extremely attractive. I blinked, wondering what the hell I had just thought.
"Hello? Earth to Timothy? Tim! Drake!" I snapped out of my reverie to see Gar snapping his fingers an inch from my face.
"What?" I demanded.
"Back to Earth, if you don't mind!" he said. "I thought you were going to be worried about being late to pick up Willow!" I jumped when I remembered.
"Right! Thanks, Gar." I said. He gave me that smirk he enjoyed so much, and I rolled my eyes at him.
"And you have to get Caitlyn." I replied. Something flashed through his facial expressions. I frowned. It looked like...loathing. Accompanied with annoyance, and what appeared to be desire. I couldn't believe what I thought I saw. I pushed it off as my imagination. He nodded and left the room. I stood there for another moment, not wanting to believe what just happened, until another annoyed shout from Gar galvanized me into leaving. In another ten minutes, we were parked outside of Willow's house. I knocked on the door, and she answered, wearing a beautiful dress, which actually went well with my tuxedo. And we didn't plan anything...if I weren't gay, I'd think about staying with her.
"Shall we?" I asked. She smiled a graceful little smile.
"We shall." We stepped off her porch and got into the car. Gar graciously got out of the front and moved into the back, and Willow took the passenger seat, while I got back into the front. I started the car up again, and drove to Caitlyn's house. Five minutes later, we arrived. This time, Gar got out to knock on the door, and Caitlyn answered, wearing a lovely blue dress that brought out the blue in her eyes. They exchanged words that I couldn't hear, and Gar then offered Caitlyn his arm. She took it, blushing slightly, and they descended and returned to the car. We drove into the school parking lot fifteen minutes later. Everyone got out (skillfully avoiding the mud puddles), and entered the school. The dance was in the gymnasium, and there were multiple food and drink tables with all sorts of sweets and soda pop and so on. We split up, Gar going off with Caitlyn, and Willow and myself going to another part of the gym. Willow and I started to dance, looking into each other's eyes. I stared into her bright blue eyes, and she stared into my dark brown ones. As everything seemed to fade around us, we leaned in to kiss. Someone cleared their throat behind us.
"Erm...sorry to ruin your little kissing moment here, but have either of you seem Garfield?" We both sighed and turned towards the intruder. It was Caitlyn. She was frowning.
"No, not since we split up." said Willow. I nodded in agreement.
"Why?" I asked. "What's up?" Caitlyn bit her lip.
"Well, it may be nothing, but I can't find him since he left for the bathroom fifteen minutes ago. He said that he'd be right back..." Her voice trailed off. I tilted my head in confusion.
"Something else?" I asked. She looked down at the floor. "Caitlyn?"
"I got a text a few minutes after he left." she said. "It was from Gar's number. I thought it was just a prank he was pulling, but now I'm not so sure."
"What did it say?" I asked.
"Hold on a second," she said, pulling her phone out of her pocket. "Uh, oh! Here it is. 'We have your friend. He looks a little...beaten up. Am I scaring you? Right, you have no idea who I am. Fat chance of finding out, as I won't be telling you.'" Caitlyn looked up. "After that, there is just a time. Eleven-oh-nine. How can I be at wherever I have to be at eleven-oh-nine if I have no idea where I have to be?" I glanced at Willow, who looked completely confused. There were times when she was a bubblehead. I sighed. Caitlyn looked at me.
"Can I see the phone?" I asked. She nodded, and handed me the phone. I read the message again. "He's at the wharf. Eleventh warehouse in the ninth row." I handed the phone back to Caitlyn, who was looking at me like I grew another head. "What?"
"How...how...how did you know that?" She asked. I sighed.
"The first letter of each sentence spelled the word 'wharf'', and eleven-oh-nine had the double meaning of eleventh warehouse in the ninth row, and the fact that you have to be there at eleven-oh-nine." I glanced at my watch. It was quarter of eleven. "We have twenty-four minutes." I said. "It takes twenty to get to the wharf, so the other four will be spent finding the correct warehouse." Willow turned red.
"You're leaving me here?" she asked. "Timothy Drake, if you leave, we are done!" I stopped for a moment.
"I'm sorry, Willow, but he is my best friend. I have to go." Her face turned murderous.
"Fine. We're done." She turned around and walked off in a huff. As she walked away, I turned to Caitlyn.
"Let's go." I said. She nodded, and we turned, running to my car (making sure that we didn't get mud on our nice clothing). We got in and raced out of the parking lot, making it to the wharf in record time. W tumbled out of the car and ran to the rows of warehouses. "Go for the ninth row!" I shouted. We ran down the aisle, counting the rows. One, two three, until we got to nine. I looked at the identification plaque on the door. Four. "Right seven!" I said. Caitlyn nodded and we ran right, counting as we went along. Five, six, seven, and then we hit eleven. I put my ear to the door. Muffled moans and groans of pain were coming from behind the door. I frowned, backed up, and ran full-force at the door. My shoulder hit it dead-on. The door banged open, apparently startling the idiots inside.
"Who are you?" One of them demanded. I smirked, and cast my eyes throughout the small room. "I'm warning you!" he said, holding up his fist, clearly trying to look threatening (but, in all honesty, he just looked a little constipated). I saw Gar. He was tied to the wall, head hung down, hanging limply from ropes and metal handcuffs. His knees were at strange, bad-looking angles, and there was thick, red blood drizzling down his hands and pooling beneath him. I sucked in my breath, and behind me, I could hear Caitlyn doing the same. I turned around.
"It would be advisable for you to leave." I said, fighting to keep my voice neutral. She looked into my eyes, and saw a hard, cold appearance in them. She nodded wordlessly and stepped out, closing the door behind her. She sighed, and heard screams of pain from within the building, along with the sounds of something snapping. She winced briefly, but quickly realized that they didn't deserve her pity or sorrow. A minute or two later, the door opened, revealing a slightly bloodied Tim, with a very bloody (and broken) Gar being carried bridal style in his arms.
"Do you have a driver's license?" I asked Caitlyn. She nodded, staring with complete and utter pity at her boyfriend. I tossed my car keys to her. "You're driving." Around ten minutes later, we arrived at the hospital. I carried Gar in while Caitlyn parked. The receptionist in the ICU looked at him, and sent for a stretcher. I told her what happened, and gave her the necessary information that she needed. Caitlyn came in, and we sat down in the waiting room.
A few hours later, a doctor came in to see us. We jumped up, waiting to hear.
"Mr. Timothy Drake?" I nodded. "And Miss Caitlyn Rey?" she nodded as well. "I have good news and bad news." he said. We both took a sharp breath. "Mr. Garfield Logan is quite fortunate. He would have died if he got here any later. He will live." We both breathed out sighs of relieve. But before we could continue our happiness, the doctor held up his hand. "Now, he will live. However, he will have some scars on his hands. It looks like he was whipped there, and on his back, though his back will heal normally. His kneecaps were smashed to smithereens, with some sort of weapon. A crowbar, perhaps, though it may have been something more along the lines of a hammer. I'm not sure if they will heal properly." Caitlyn and I both quickly sucked in a breath of air, and breathed it out slowly.
"But he will survive?" I asked. The doctor nodded.
"Yes, though he will most likely be in a wheelchair for the rest of his life."
"If he wanted to, he might be able to have prosthetic legs." he said. "Other than that, no." I nodded.
"Can we see him now?" Caitlyn asked. The doctor hesitated for a moment. He looked at us, saw our pleading faces.
"OK." He stepped aside, and we rushed into Gar's room.
"Oh!" Caitlyn said. I had to agree, for both good and bad reasons. Gar looked extremely beaten up, slightly less than last time we saw him. His legs were bent at poor angles, and he was still a little bloodied. But he looked so freaking cute in his sleep. His hair was laying against his eyes, and he was drooling a little bit.
"Gar, what did you do?" I sighed. I went over to him and ran my hand through his hair. He stirred briefly, and started to talk in his sleep.
"No! Stop! Please don't! You've done this long enough already! Please!"
"Gar, snap out of it!" I said.
"Tim! No, stop! Don't hurt him!" Came out of his mouth. I frowned.
"Gar, SNAP OUT OF IT!" I yelled.
"Tim...Tim!" He said.
"I'm right here, Gar." I said.
"Tim, I...I..." I gripped his hand.
"Gar, what is it?" I asked him.
"Tim, I love you." he murmured, still asleep. I heard Caitlyn suck in a breath.
"If so...good bye, Garfield." she said. She turned and left, amazingly not breaking down or screaming at me, or Gar. Good girl. Gar stirred again, and opened his eyes sleepily.
"Hey, Gar. How are you?" I asked.
"I've been better." he groaned.
"Gar..." My voice trailed off.
"Yeah?" he asked, hope dawning in his eyes.
"I love you too." I confessed. His eyes widened, and then he reached up around my neck, pulled me down, and we kissed. Sparks flew (in our imaginations) as we kissed, and we loved each other. Now just to deal with Dad and how he will deal with this...
A week later, Gar was released from the hospital. He was back at home, but under a strict order of bed rest. He was coming along just fine, and he said that he would prefer prosthetic legs over the wheelchair. A wheelchair would be too cumbersome, he had said. I entered his room an hour or so after I left with his dishes that had his lunch on them.
"Hey, Gar." I said. "How're you doing?" He sighed.
"I've definitely been better." he replied. I hesitated for a moment.
"So...about last week..."
"Ah." he said, looking a little uncomfortable. I raised my eyebrows at him, waiting for him to continue. "I do love you. I have since that day, a few years ago, when we had that mud fight?" He looked at me questioningly, hoping I knew what he was talking about. I did, and I smiled reminiscently.
"That was a good day."
It had rained, washing away the rest of the snow, and the dirt had been mudified (or liquified, take your pick). Gar, ever the jokester, decided that it would be funny to pick up some mud and throw it at me. So, of course, he did, and I got a face full of mud. I had looked at him in complete horror as I dragged my hand through the mess. He was laughing at me, rolling on the ground pointing at me, with his other hand on his stomach. I retaliated, picking up a handful of mud for myself and throwing it at him. I hit him right in the face, right where he nailed me just seconds before. He stopped laughing abruptly, and started to cry. I ran over to him in fright, hoping that I didn't hurt him. I had crouched besides him and asked him what was wrong. A second later, his eyes snapped open, and he jumped on me, wrestling me to the ground. I was in shock for the first second, and then I fought back full force. He spent the rest of the afternoon fighting in the ground until Dad called us in for dinner. But he took one look at us and sent us straight upstairs for a shower.
"Yeah, that was a good day." Gar agreed, jerking me out of my memories.
"As it was...I believe that that was when my brain started to tell my body to love you as well." I said. Gar raised an eyebrow (a feat I can never accomplish, no matter how hard I try).
"Your brain started to tell your body that you loved me?" He asked, stifling a laugh.
"Quiet, you." I said. " You are my foster brother, after all. Now, while this is not incest, my body didn't want to believe it." Gar's happy face started to crumple.
"Though now I realize...I am hopelessly (and utterly completely) in love with you, Gar. I doubt that I can live without you." Gar's face broke into a smile again, and suddenly there was clapping behind us.
"Nice save, Timmy." The deep voice came from behind us, startling us half to death. I whipped around to see my father emerging from the corner, dressed in his black business suit. He was the owner of Wayne Corporations (or whatever it's called...I'm tired. Just PM me the answer and I'll fix it), and so he had to dress in a suit, no matter how much he hated it. "You were almost going to be kicked out." He was smirking, enjoying this. He knew it would eventually happen (he certainly wasn't stupid), but he didn't plan on a kidnapping to do it.
"Wha-why?" I asked, doubting that Gar would do that. But I looked at him and decided that he probably would, on second thought...
"Because you were an idiot and very nearly made me cry." Was his completely logical reply. I pursed my lips for a second, but agreed wholeheartedly.
"Now, Gar." said my father. Gar and I both looked at him. "Why were you kidnapped? You've been avoiding the question since you first became conscious. Spill, Garfield. Now." Gar hesitated momentarily, but saw the two inquisitive (and glaring) looks being directed at him. He sighed, and spilled.
"From what I was told about my parents, I gathered that they were agents of the CIA, and they put very dangerous people behind bars. The cohorts, for lack of a better word, tracked us down by hacking into various records, and killed my parents, but couldn't find me. Then I was put into foster care, and then they hacked into the foster care records and found me. They've been trying to find me so that they can torture and then kill me ever since." Gar looked down and toyed with the hem of his shirt. I stepped forward.
"Gar, why didn't you tell us this before?" I asked.
"Because I didn't want you guys to treat me differently than everyone else, as if I was a glass doll, or something like that. I am a human being who is perfectly capable of taking care of myself." Dad and I looked pointedly at his legs.
"Besides this." He amended. "But now, those people are gone, and there isn't a way I can be touched again. I will always have people around me who care about me." Dad stepped forward.
"You realize that you will need to be homeschooled now, right?" he asked.
"Yeah, I do." he said, his voice annoyed and completely unhappy. I stepped forward.
"If he's being homeschooled, I will be as well." Dad looked at me.
"I can't take you out of school for no reason, Tim." he said. "If you can give me a reason, I will give it to the School Board (or whatever Board, I don't know, and I really don't care that much right now) for evaluation." I frowned, racking my brain for a good, worthwhile reason.
"May I?" asked Gar. Dad and I looked at him.
"Certainly." Dad said. Gar grinned.
"Tim is, by all technicalities, my family. So the people who came after me might come after Tim as well, so you need to keep him safe and homeschool him." I looked at Gar, admiration in my eyes.
"Nice!" I exclaimed. "How'd you come up with that one?" Gar smirked.
"Oh, that? That's not an excuse." Dad and I looked at each other in confusion.
"So...what is it?" Dad asked him.
"Well, I was told that about ten seconds before you busted in, Timmy." I looked at my boyfriend and foster brother, not comprehending what he said.
"I'm a target now?" I asked, trying to clarify the situation. Gar nodded. I blinked a few times.
"Well...that's not good." I said. I gestured towards the bed. "May I?" I asked. Gar nodded. I stumbled over to him and fell into bed besides him, Gar shifting over to make room. He snuggled into the crook of my neck. I sighed, pushed all thoughts out of my head, and fell asleep. Bruce shook his head at his two boys, and quietly left the room, closing the door behind him.
"G'night, Timmy." Came Gar's tired voice. I smiled tiredly.
"G'night, Garfield."
Some hours later, a window was carefully opened from the outside. A black-gloved hand slowly slid in, followed by the rest of a black-clothed body. The body stealthily moved towards the stairs and walked up, destination firm in mind. The same black hand as before reached out towards the doorknob leading to the room where Tim and Gar were, and slowly turned it and opened the door, finding the targets right where they should have been...
And...I'm done! No, there will NOT be another chapter, or a sequel. This is completely out of my FF comfort zone, writing K+ stories. I much prefer M's, thank you very much. Regardless, I hope you people liked, and please please please please please review! I don't want to go so insane that I actually show it...*cough* Undertaker *cough*. You know who you are (and others know who you are), my friend. Also, this was written on my iPad. As much as I abhor spelling errors, I am sure I missed something. Forgive me. I will fix it later (but you need to bring it to my attention, mind you...).
~Quillcox