A/N: This was written as the sequel to Look My Way, but it could probably be read as a stand alone without too much trouble.

Revised 8/2012

"My point, Rapunzel, is that fairytales only have happy endings because they stop before the shit hits the fan. Why do you think they gloss over the rest of the story with that 'happily ever after' bullshit? It's because Cinderella's problems didn't go away after the ball. If anything, they probably got worse. Think about all the consequences that would've resulted from her marrying above her class. How long do you think it was before the Prince regretted his decision and took it out on Cinderella? I bet they got into some pretty heated arguments after the ball and he knocked her around a bit." He paused and took a sip of his coffee. "But no one wants to read about that."

-John Bender, Look My Way, Ch. 6

June 1993

John heard an ominous rumble of thunder off in the distance as he exited the highway and headed into the heart of the northern Chicago suburbs. It had been threatening to rain since he had rounded the southern tip of Lake Michigan back in Indiana, and now it seemed that he was finally catching up to the storm. He hoped that the weather would hold for at least twenty more minutes, so that he could make it to his motel and unload his bags without getting completely drenched in the process.

The illuminated 'Welcome to Shermer' sign soon appeared out of the darkness and greeted him as he crossed the border into his hometown. John wasn't sure, however, that 'welcome' was what he was feeling. It was more like dread. There was something extremely unsettling about returning home after being gone for so long. And the foreboding nature of the coming storm didn't help his mood any. He felt like the weekend was going to be all about waiting for the other shoe to drop, and that had him on edge. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, hoping to get rid of some of his nervous energy.

The unsettled feeling in the pit of his stomach only grew, however, as he drove through the streets of Shermer, and realized that he barely recognized a town that he had once known like the back of his hand. Everywhere he looked, something had changed. There was a Wal-Mart now, where the bowling alley had once stood. The abandoned lot where he had played baseball and smoked his first cigarette had been paved over. A gas station replaced the pizzeria/arcade where he had spent much of his teenage years. It seemed as though nothing from his past had been spared.

John had never considered himself a sentimental person, but for some reason it really bothered him to see how much Shermer had changed in his absence. It made him feel like an outsider. But then, he supposed, that was exactly what he was.

Driving further into town took him past an imposing brick structure that he had never thought to look twice at in the past. Now, however, John found himself inexplicably drawn to the building, and before he knew it, he had pulled his car into the traffic loop out front. Under the yellow-orange glow of the sodium lights, he saw that although the school had updated the signs out front and gained a new addition, it was still recognizable as his old high school.

Minutes ticked by, but all he could do was stare through the windshield at the main entrance. He vividly remembered what it was like having to pass through those doors every day, knowing that there was a good chance he would be harassed by Vernon. He remembered believing at one point, with absolute certainty, that there was nothing in that building that was worth his while. There was a time when he would have given anything not to have to spend six days of the week within its walls.

But after nine years, the animosity he had once felt subsided. It was replaced instead with a deep longing to be a part of those carefree days again. The greatest joy he had ever known had been a product of one single detention that he had received during his senior year. If only time had stopped back then. Back when his story still had a happy ending.

Vernon's words haunted him as he sat there. "You want to see something funny? Go visit John Bender in five years. You'll see how goddamn funny he is."

"You'd be proud, Dick," John muttered out loud, "It only took three years for my life to become a fucking joke." Self-fulfilling prophecy or merely just coincidence, he had been doomed to fail since that day.

John sat there for another minute, unsure of what he was waiting for. The building was dark, and everyone had long since left for the day, but that didn't stop him from thinking that there was a chance, however slim, that Vernon knew that he was sitting in front of the school. He looked over at the doors again, this time expecting to see the Dean of Students come running outside after him, ready to make good on the threat that he had made nine years ago. And while it was unlikely that Vernon could still kick the living shit out of him, he could certainly ruin John's weekend. John decided that he wasn't taking any chances, and put the car back in drive.

He drove away from the school, mostly on autopilot, and out of habit turned down North Street, the one road he had wanted to avoid. By the time he realized where he was going, it was too late to turn around. He was going to have to confront yet another building from his past. One that was chock-full of bittersweet memories. With all of the changes that had been made in the town, John held out hope that it had been torn down too. It would be fitting to see a McDonald's or something more modern in its place. There was no way that it would still be— Damn. John blinked to make sure he wasn't hallucinating.

The little diner was still there, and it looked exactly as it had on his way out of town. Its cheery neon lights were a comforting sight and they made him feel a little less like an outsider. He wanted to stop in for a quick bite to eat, but he knew that doing so could potentially dredge up thoughts and feelings that he would rather leave buried. Empty stomach factoring heavily into his decision, John set his reluctance aside and pulled into the parking lot. The gravel crunched beneath him as he walked toward the entrance. It had been six years since his feet last touched the ground in Shermer.

A bell signaled his arrival in the mostly empty eatery. A gray-haired woman in the kitchen poked her head out the pass-through window and greeted him. "I'll be right with you, hon. Just gotta drop these fries. Don't know why I have to run the damn thing…"

John glanced around the place as he waited, and felt as though he had stepped through a door into the past. Nothing had changed. The seats were covered in the same red vinyl, and the floor still had the same black and white checkerboard pattern. Even the trucker sipping his coffee at the counter wasn't out of place—he could have sat down in 1987 as easily as he had that day. John looked to his left and half-expected to find Claire waiting for him in their regular booth. But of course she wasn't there. It had been six years since he had last seen Claire.

He wondered if she still ate there without him. It had become a favorite hangout for them, ever since their first breakfast together. That was the morning that he had gone off on his rant about the unrealistic nature of fairytales. He had thought that he had known everything about life back then. Though, he wasn't entirely convinced now that he hadn't. As predicted, there had been no happily ever after for them. In the end, it had just been him, alone in his car, driving off toward a destination unknown.

The demise of their relationship had snuck up on him, but only because he hadn't allowed himself to see it coming. The first year had gone relatively smoothly, and there had been nothing to indicate that it wouldn't continue that way. The trouble had started during the second year—after Claire had moved in with him. It had been a huge mistake to live together, John could see that now, but at the time, happiness and a need to prove the world wrong had made him blind.

By the third year, the happiness had disappeared, and staying together had felt more like an obligation than anything else. It wasn't long before the princess had started to resent having been taken out of her castle and thrown into the proverbial slums. What a fucking villain he had turned out to be.

They argued—constantly—about money, and the night John had left Shermer had been no different. He had been picking up extra shifts for two weeks to cover the bills for that month. He knew that without the overtime pay, they wouldn't have enough for the electric bill and the rent. Unfortunately, after getting his paycheck, John had discovered that his new boss didn't pay time-and-a-half to anyone who had been at the shop less than six months. He had gone home that night with a smaller than expected amount of money, feeling frustrated as well as exhausted.

He had noticed the shopping bags as soon as he had walked into the apartment, and they had worsened his already bad mood. He hadn't been able to comprehend how Claire was able to spend money so carelessly, and he had suspected her of trying to get them evicted so that she would have an excuse to move back home. He had wanted to call her on it, but hadn't wanted to start another fight. Not that night, anyway. He had just wanted to have a quick smoke, eat something, and then go to bed.

He had been in the middle of searching the couch cushions for his spare lighter when the shopaholic herself had appeared in the living room, and had started berating him about how he'd been late or how he hadn't cleaned something that he had said he would. John couldn't remember the specifics anymore, not that they mattered. The important thing was that the two of them had argued for a while, and then he had just snapped.

After six years, John still remembered the way that her cheek felt beneath his palm as it made contact. He could still hear the horrifying sound that had accompanied it. When he closed his eyes, he could still see the tears running down her shocked face. He carried those memories with him. He couldn't escape from them. Not even on the best of days.

Claire had recovered from her initial shock quickly, and had started screaming at him, but John had only been able to stand there. It had felt like the room had collapsed in on him and taken all of the air with it. He had tried to sputter out an apology, but nothing that he had been able to think of to say had seemed like enough. He had wanted to console Claire. He had wanted to hold her and to reassure her that everything would be okay, and that nothing like it would ever happen again. He had wanted to tell her that he loved her. But he hadn't been able to do any of those things.

He had only been able to stare at his trembling hands while had she thrown things at him in anger. It had been like a scene from his childhood. She had played the part of his mother and he…he had turned into his father. That was the thought that had broken him, and that was when he had known that he would have to leave. Leaving was the only thing, in a sea of jumbled thoughts, which had made sense. So, he had clung to it. He couldn't have stayed, not without risking hurting her again.

Once he had come to that realization, he had quickly torn through their bedroom and stuffed his clothes into a duffel bag. He didn't have much of value in the apartment, but on his way out he had grabbed the only things that meant something to him—his two guitars, and his music collection. He had left everything else, including the wad of cash from his recently cashed paycheck, because he had figured that he had owed her at least that much. Then, he had walked out the door, and hadn't looked back.

He had hit the road that evening and driven for a good five hours, until he was almost in Canada. By that time, he had been so thoroughly exhausted, that he had pulled over at a rest stop and had slept the remainder of the night in his car. In the morning, he had gone looking for work.

In essence, he had started his life over. He had cut everyone from his past out of his new life, with the exception of Pete McNally, his best friend since childhood. For five years, John had successfully remained in seclusion. Then, just about a year ago, someone from his past had finally tracked him down.

He had been expecting Brian to show up one day and to beg him to come back, but it had been Andy who had called him. He had said that he was a cop, and that he had used his "connections" to find John's phone number. John had almost hung up on him, but the former jock had sounded surprisingly sincere. He had said that he didn't care why John had left, he just wanted to know that he was doing okay now. They talked a few more times after that. Andy had even come to visit, which had actually been fun, until he had made his compelling argument for why he thought that John should come back to Shermer for a weekend. And like an idiot, John had listened.

"Sorry 'bout the wait. You wanna sit at a table or the counter, hon?" a voice asked.

John blinked at the waitress, who was now standing in front of him. His heart leapt when he realized that it was Betty. Betty who knew his regular order. Betty who gave him a free slice of pie on occasion. Betty who had just asked him a question. "Uh…what?"

"You gonna order somethin'?" she tried again, this time slower.

When it was apparent that she didn't recognize him, the illusion broke, and John was thrown back into the present. His stomach churned and he suddenly had the feeling that what he was doing was very wrong. He didn't belong there, in that diner, not anymore, and he had to get out. But Betty was still waiting for a reply. "Oh, uh…no. Men's room?" he finally managed to choke out.

"Down the hall," she pointed. Just where it had always been.

"Thanks," he uttered, and quickly rushed past her down the hall.

He leaned on the sink for support. His mind was racing with a combination of adrenaline, confusion, and just about any other thought he had ever had. He glanced up, and the man he saw reflected in the mirror looked old—much older than the teenage face John had expected to see.

He hadn't been in Shermer thirty minutes and already it was messing with his head. John wondered how he was going to make it through an entire weekend. Why on earth had he thought that coming back was a good idea?

He quickly exited the diner and got into his car before he had time to rethink the whole thing and head back home to Detroit.